


A Lady's Rapid Imagination

by Meledore



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Freeform, Friendship, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Pining, References to Jane Austen, Regency, Rejection, Remix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meledore/pseuds/Meledore
Summary: It was, according to the consistent teachings of their elders from childhood, that a man in possession of a good fortune absolutely must be in want of a beautiful and charming wife; such was the duty of an educator, a mother, a governess, to ensure that their daughters and charges were brought up to be the most catching woman the family had to offer.Daenerys and Rhaenys Targaryen do not dwell on the thought of marriage as often as a lady of their circumstances aught, but should a man of suitable character and pleasant background catch their eye, there is an interest to be held. Unless, of course, the man is terribly conceited and brooding that no amount of salary could rectify his poor soul. Such is the man Daenerys finds in her social circle.TLDR: Pride and Prejudice A.U. except Westeros has terrible geography
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 49
Kudos: 75





	1. A Formal Residency

It was, according to the consistent teachings of their elders from childhood, that a man in possession of a good fortune absolutely must be in want of a beautiful and charming wife; such was the duty of an educator, a mother, a governess, to ensure that their daughters and charges were brought up to be the most catching woman the family had to offer. So much so was the truth so very fixated into the minds of Great Society that the announced arrival of a bachelor blessed with wealth into the neighbourhood immediately sent a flurry of excitement and scheming through the minds of women. Regardless of the feelings of the man, the status by his side would soon be hoped to be filled by some lucky woman bred for the part and elevated far, far above her station.

"Uncle Aemon," said Rhaenys once the news had been properly circulated and taken to heart after the intense conversation with Miss Baratheon from the neighbouring estate, "Uncle Aemon, surely you know that Hightower Park has just been occupied?"

The blind man answered in his calming and quiet voice that Jeor Mormont had notified him of such weeks before through raven, but he did not know who resided in the once-empty estate. Rhaenys took to the low, cushioned stool at the side of her Uncle Aemon's chair, grasping his thin hands in her own, a sweet smile painted on her lips as she recounted what the news had entailed.

"Miss Baratheon has just been there, she tells me that there are movers present already; one of the footmen retrieved her handkerchief when she dropped it." Aemon hummed encouragingly, and Rhaenys, realising that perhaps she had deviated briefly from her intended news, continued, "Myrecella says that Hightower has been taken by a young man with large fortunes from the North, it seems that he had come down to inspect the property only weeks before, and had taken to it so eagerly that they are to take possession of it before the winter celebrations."

She paused, golden eyes straying towards the windows with their curtains drawn tightly shut, "A bachelor by the name of Robert Stark with six-thousand a year, I believe. Do you know of him?"

"Robert Stark?"

"Supposedly a very good-humoured man, Margaery says so from what she is able to recall from her childhood."

"Well, my dear, unless you are as keen as Miss Tyrell to catch him as a husband I can tell you know more of Mr Stark than I can tell you of his sisters."

"Sisters?" Rhaenys exclaimed with mild wonder, "I did not know he had sisters. I do wonder if he shall take up residence with them."

"Two sisters, indeed." Aemon Targaryen replied softly, nearly contemplative in his treble, "Miss Tyrell was an acquaintance of the elder Miss Stark in her childhood, once."

"And the other?"

"I know nothing of Miss Stark, dear girl, only of their father." He patted his niece's hand comfortingly, "But I can assure you that both have been raised by a just and honourable man."

"Should he host a ball, uncle, would it be probable for him to bring other gentlemen of like stature?" Rhaenys wondered aloud, the prospect of a kind husband in a comfortable home never a distant fantasy that played in the back of her mind. She certainly held less enthusiasm towards the idea than Miss Tyrell or Miss Baratheon, but the faint glimmer of it still made itself present each time the opportunity made itself available.

"A likely outcome, I would say." Aemon Targaryen was of sharp wit and incredible mind that was often tapered into a gentle and soft reserve, for age had only dimmed his vigour, but never his head. His voice was always steady and sure, never without the tinge of kindness when he spoke to his nieces. Now, of course, Miss Targaryen immediately understood that he was tired, for the shortened sentences and replies were enough to indicate that their guardian required some rest. It was, after all, due time for her to retire to bed as well.

"Goodnight then, Uncle." Rhaenys gave the man a peck on the cheek and departed with a murmur of goodnight. Aemon only smiled kindly as she rose.

"Sweet dreams, Rhaenys. Do tell your aunt to come bid me goodnight."

"Has Dany not been around yet?" Rhaenys pursed her lips fondly, "I wonder if she is preparing for bed. Of course, Uncle. Goodnight."

They bade their farewells, and the estate settled into a comfortable silence as night rested over Dragonstone.

Rhaenys shut the door to Mr Targaryen's chambers and went along through the house, never needing a candle from the familiarity of her surroundings. The servants had extinguished the torches and lights of the home, for it was long past dusk, and Rhaenys trailed a hand along the wooden panels of the walls on the way to her own rooms. Towards the west wing, a partially ajar door spilt warm and soft light into the hallway, and the soft rustling of fabric could be heard. Rhaenys approached comfortably.

"Daenerys?" Rhaenys knocked softly against the open door, pausing for a moment to hear her aunt's voice, and upon the soft grant of entry, she entered.

The Targaryen Line had long rumoured to be infused with magic and knowledge entirely unknown, for their ancestors had once been the ones to tame the dragons of the world, to ride them upon the horizon, the build the great empires. Rather than search for such evidence and persuade the public of such information, it was simply enough for any sensible soul to lay eyes upon one of the last living dragons to walk Westeros. Should the question of the most beautiful woman in the world ever be raised, there would only be three answers. Cersei Lannister, the golden-haired angel and the picture of perfection, Margaery Tyrell the most elegant nymph with grace and poise, and Daenerys Targaryen, a silver goddess divine.

As Rhaenys entered her aunt's chambers, such knowledge did not waver. Daenerys Targaryen was seated at her vanity, but her luminous eyes met hers through the mirror, and her lips broke into a soft smile.

"Rhaenys." She greeted, laying the ivory-handled brush upon the table and rising from her seat to meet her, "Are you retiring?"

"Of course," Rhaenys grasped her hands, "Uncle Aemon has asked for you."

"I ought to bid him goodnight, then." Daenerys cocked her head curiously, "Did he say anything of Mr Stark's arrival?"

"Hm, I shall tell you all I know once you return."

"Very well then, let me take the candle." 

* * *

Though no doubt the news of the arrival of some mysterious Northern gentleman was known among the household, it was still calmly announced by Aemon Targaryen the following day upon breakfast. The information, already having been heard, did not pose as a surprise. The announcement that Mr Stark had called upon them instead for a visit, however, was unknown. It was presented in the following manner. Upon his eldest charge employing a hat trimming, Mr Targaryen spoke to her without warning.

"Should Mr Stark like the trimming, Rhaenys?"

"We are unable to determine what Mr Stark likes," said she, in good humour as she met her uncle's gaze through the vanity mirror, "Do we now?"

"Do you forget, Ness," spoke Daenerys from her seat near the window, "We will be able to meet him at the assemblies, Mrs Tyrell promised an introduction." She paused a moment in amusement. "Though I suspect you care much less about what Mr Stark thinks than Margaery's brother."

"She will do no such thing!" Rhaenys' cheeks flushed red, "We both know both Lady Tyrell and Margaery both wish to be acquainted with Mr Stark, and I do not care what Willas thinks of my hat!"

"And who spoke of Willas, my dear?" Came Aemon's smooth reply, to which Rhaenys fretfully began to pluck at her trimmings. Instead of responding to the jest, Rhaenys turned to her aunt.

"When is our next ball to be then, Dany?"

"To-morrow fortnight."

"Surely enough time for the household to prepare for a visit from Mr Stark, then." Mr Targaryen interjected. The brief silence of surprise made Aemon Targaryen smile, for it was the desired astonishment. Daenerys and Rhaenys shared a secret look of which he was not troubled to decipher and which did not find in his interests to remain in the presence of. Mr Targaryen promptly left the room and went to his own amusements elsewhere. His nephew, the Mr Viserys Targaryen, was due to return from his stay in Essos shortly, and preparations would need to be made upon his arrival.

* * *

In a few days, Mr Stark came to visit, sitting for a little over an hour in the Dragonstone library. Aemon Targaryen greeted him cordially and kindly, as he did with all guests, and he was very pleased to find that Robert Stark was of very agreeable character; quite young, extremely handsome in the rugged and dark looks characteristic of the North, and, much to a pleasant surprise, set to attend the next assembly with his own party. The many gentlemen from the North promised something strange in Mr Targaryen's heart as the conversation forwarded. He became clear that he had come as a desire to be admitted to the sight of the two young women of the Targaryen household, of whose wit and charming company he had heard a great deal of, but only the ageing Mr Targaryen was seen. The two women in question, though, were more fortunate than him. They had seen him arrive from the upper east window, Daenerys forced to yield her favourite seat on the widened ledge to her niece and the lady's maid they had both come to regard as their closest and most loyal friend.

"Look at him, his horse is such a lovely creature." Daenerys did not find the man particularly interesting, only focused on the black horse that currently stood in the courtyard, being tended to by the stable boy and being fed grain from the barn. Rhaenys seemed more intrigued by his blue coat, and Missandei seemed to be more caught up in the fine breed of Mr Stark's horse than towards Rhaenys' train of thought. The hills were quiet in the early afternoon, and the open window-pane offered a slight cooling breeze into the room.

"Quite a well-bred steed, I think." Rhaenys agreed absentmindedly, "I wonder if Uncle Aemon will invite him to dinner."

"I wonder if he shall call upon Mr Tyrell afterwards, it is Margaery the only one he knows by name in the neighbourhood." Daenerys stroked the large head of the massive dog that lay across her lap, the silent guard matching the calm air of the three women. The youngest Targaryen took the great head into her delicate hands leaning down to stare into those blood-red eyes, "Where are your brothers, Drogon?"

"We ought to find them, should they feel the need to protect Dragonstone from an intruder." Rhaenys gave a small giggle and leaned back from the window, "Silently, of course, lest Mr Stark finds us."

"Missandei, why don't you ensure the horse is taken care of?" Daenerys grasped her friend's hand as she gave a silent nod towards the courtyard below, and the young woman's cheeks flushed. The maid hesitated briefly, but Daenerys gave a soft smile, "Go."

As the door closed behind the maid, Rhaenys lay a hand upon her aunt's arm. "Viserys is to arrive soon, it saddens me much to think that Missandei can no longer spend her mornings outdoors anymore."

"Let us find Rhaegal and Viserion, then." Daenerys shut the window properly, "I do hope Mr Stark doesn't run into them when they're roaming the grounds."

The dogs came to her without a fuss, silent as prowling things could be across the morning moors, Drogon only needing a single commanding bark out onto the lands coupled with the familiar figure of their mistress standing in the fresh sunlight to call his brothers back. Rhaegal was a beautiful grey-furred one, his black snout lowering to the ground to sniff at a clump of grass before he trotted over happily, Viserion following in suit. Daenerys knelt upon the ground with arms open, happily embracing the excited whimpers and curious noses of her pets. Rhaenys chuckled.

"Every day I wonder how large they can get." She fished three biscuits from her dress-pocket from breakfast and tossed them onto the ground, one for each.

"With you feeding them like that, there's no telling Ness." Daenerys watched Drogon and his brothers scrabble for the food, looking as happy and innocent as they did when they were but pups, bought from some exotic trader by Rhaegar upon her return from Essos for her name-day. But they were large of immense strength, even from childhood they had been protective of her, working well for the safety of Dragonstone's two young ladies. She'd seen them pounce upon a man, and it was as if watching a lion leap towards its prey, so fiercely protective of her it was almost sweet. Daenerys turned to Rhaenys kindly.

"Shall we turn back in, then?"

"I believe we shall."

* * *

A lunch invitation was soon dispatched to Mr Stark, but he was obliged back North the day after, assuring Mr Targaryen that it was to find proper guests for the assembly, to bring his sisters and cousins and companions for better company. He was also set to visit Highgarden in the afternoon, and none in the neighbourhood heard from the gentleman till the assemblies came. The thought of other ladies of Northern temperament greatly dampened the spirits of the Miss Margaery Tyrell, who had lamented to the friends of her circle the wish to become acquainted with him once more, but it was later proved to be worrying without a cause. When the party entered the large and rowdy assembly room, it simply consisted of his two sisters, two cousins of distant relation, and one other mysterious gentleman.

The eldest Miss Stark was handsome and courteous, a sweet tongue to all that had an air of exceedingly high fashion. She gave many of the young women kind words, but the neighbourhood still felt themselves stiffen under her icy blue gaze. The younger was much less tempered and fiery than the copper-haired woman, and much inclined to the loud assembly aura the room held. While the eldest Miss Stark favoured her brother, the younger seemed to favour the gentleman at their side, grey eyes and hair shorter than many of the Southern ladies were used to looking upon. She spoke loudly, did not care to stare at the gentlemen who looked at her, and eventually found her way off the corner to speak with one of Mr Stark's cousins, another red-haired woman who did not follow the conventions that the eldest Miss Stark seemed to put forth. Much to all the attendees' surprise and gossip, the Miss Greyjoy looked upon the women with interest, never the gentlemen. Her brother, the Mr Greyjoy, had a slightly anxious figure and a seemingly nervous man, who only with Mr Stark's encouragement began asking the assembly ladies for a proper dance. Though the three men drew much attention, for they were all unmarried bachelors of considerable Northern fortune, the curious attention soon drew to the gentleman companion of Mr Stark, his friend the Mr Snow, a sturdy and brooding man with dashing features and never lacking noble mien. It was quickly flung about that his payment was of nearly twelve thousand stags a year. Gentleman yielded him a very curt and of fine figure, while the ladies called him absolutely mysterious, for he spoke little and there remained much of a brooding look upon his fine features. It was then, the sudden agreement that he seemed to be a proud man of few words, and his popularity lessened with each brief conversation he stilled, and not even the large estate in The Gift could redeem his friendship with the very agreeable Mr Stark.

"Rhaenys!" Margaery's sweet voice caught the attention of the two Targaryen ladies, who had nary the time to take a hearty welcome from Mr Mormont. Rhaenys turned around, pleasantly surprised to find their dear friend calling them over to the side of the parlour. They approached quickly.

"Margaery! Oh, you look lovely!" Rhaenys admired the fine blue ribbon upon the dress they had all preened over days ago, "I knew that dress would become you."

The young woman had piled her brown locks artfully into delicate curls that framed her pretty face, and Daenerys reached forward to straighten their friend's lace collar.

"Rhaenys, there is someone I would like to introduce you to." Margaery pulled Daenerys into a familiar embrace before she took Rhaenys by the hand.

"But Margaery, what of Mr Stark? We have scarcely entered and I can already see him look upon you with interest!" Daenerys tilted her head towards the lively hall, full of dancing and vigour, to find true that the comely Mr Stark had his charming smile directed towards Ms Margaery from across the distance. The man turned away with a sheepish grin upon the realisation that he had been staring. Daenerys gave a knowing look. "He is staring, you know. You ought to speak to him."

"Oh hush, Dany, I shall in a minute, if only Miss Stark would not stare at me in such a strange manner." Margaery tugged at Rhaenys excitedly, "Now will you come with your niece, Daenerys, to meet my brother?"

"We've already seen Loras, Margaery dear." Rhaenys gave a pretty laugh that seemed to catch the eye of one of the gentlemen nearby, but he was promptly ignored by the three women, "He's over there now speaking with Mr Baratheon is he not?"

True he was, the fair-headed young man was laughing pleasantly in conversation to the youngest Baratheon and offered them a happy grin.

"No, not that one, Ness!" She pointed to the other corner of the assembly, "Just come! And then I shall allow myself to be asked for a dance from Mr Stark, I promise."

"Has Garland returned, then?" Daenerys was taken by the hand and weaved through the many people that murmured their greetings upon their arrival before her violet eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, I see."

Rhaenys had suddenly blushed a pretty pink in her cheeks as she stuttered to a stop. "Margaery! How could you not say!" Her golden eyes looked for her aunt's but Daenerys hid a knowing smile as she and Margaery looked on with mirth.

"Dany!"

"Come now, Ness, surely you do not forget Willas!" Daenerys took Rhaenys with a gloved hand towards the two young men with charming smiles, young women surrounding them pleasantly and tittering yet too nervous to meet the two who looked up to the approach of the three women.

"Daenerys, Rhaenys!" Garland greeted them with a slight bow, "Looking as ethereal as I am to recall." His kind eyes swept across their dresses, "Beautiful."

"Daenerys, your hair has grown even more magnificent it seems." Willas's smile only widened as he bowed deeply towards Rhaenys. "You are as beautiful as ever, Miss Targaryen."

"I had heard word that the garrisons had come, I had not known you were to make an appearance so soon."

"Indeed Miss Targaryen, I have been away from home for too long, Margaery sent your kind words through her letters each month." "Ask her for a dance, you foolish boy." Garland pat his brother on the back as he sipped upon the glass, "Daenerys, how have you been?"

Rhaenys was soon swept away upon invitation of the next dance by Willas, and Margaery turned happily to watch her friend and brother onto the assembly floor, much to the muted pinning of the ladies. Daenerys whispered into Margaery's ear.

"Mr Stark is staring again, shall you even look at him?"

"Leave her, Miss Targaryen, I have seen her sneak gazes for the entire time we have arrived." Garland touched her elbow, "Go on, Margaery, quit dallying or I'm to tell grandmother." Margaery threw her brother a withering glare before she smoothed her skirts.

"And I thought Tyrell men were supposed to be charming."

"Are you not to dance then, Garland?" Daenerys watched her niece smile and laugh at something Willas told her before they parted, then at Mr Stark's careful steps towards Margaery, who sat alone near one of the tables.

"We arrived yesterday evening, weary but overjoyed. And I am suddenly to find Hightower Park rented out?"

"Indeed, Mr Stark has taken up residence. Miss Baratheon was the first to relay the news I believe. She is very perceptive is she not?"

"Miss Baratheon is indeed." Garland gave a quiet sigh. "The women here look as if they are to eat me alive."

"No doubt waiting for you to step into a dance with them, sir." Daenerys responded good-naturally, looking at the other women who gossiped among themselves disdainfully in her direction, "They also seem to grow more hostile every day."

"Terrible behaviour, I am sorry." He adjusted the collar of his jacket uncomfortably and leaned against the wall with a slight groan. Daenerys edged closer to her friend in concern.

"Are you alright, Garland?"

"Yes, Yes Miss Targaryen." He waved her away with a grimace as he steadied himself, "I was shot months ago, but the wound still bares itself at the most inconvenient of times. I am afraid I cannot ask you to dance today, nor anyone else for that matter."

"Oh dear, you ought to sit down, Garland. There is a chair in the parlour if you wish to do so?" Daenerys looked around for Loras or Margaery, the former who was still speaking closely to Renley Baratheon and the latter in a very happy dance upon the assembly floor with Mr Stark near Willas and Rhaenys.

"Thank you, Daenerys." Garland gave a small grimace as he looked at his right leg sadly, "You are far kinder than many have been."

"Surely your father admires your bravery? Margaery told me you nearly saved Willas's life in battle."

Margaery had spent many afternoons in the past many years with the company of Daenerys and Rhaenys Targaryen, seeing as Dragonstone Estate and Highgarden were only a moment's drive by carriage. Certainly, a natural bond formed when their ages differed in such a slight, and of course, a sisterhood that extended to the Tyrell brothers as well. Willas and Garland and Loras had been their childhood companions as well, a friendship that blossomed into the feeling of security for each party through the assurance of companionship of a lifetime.

Daenerys, guiding the tall and level-headed Garland to the lounge in the open parlour, ignored the haughty looks of the women as she helped him take a much-needed rest. The parlour, grand in decoration and still quite full of party guests washed its pattern of conversation over the ball, leaving nothing to be desired in the comfortable silence.

"Run along now, Miss Daenerys, I am sure you have done enough accompaniment towards lame legs at home, I shall not be the distress of your evening." Garland had told her, and when offered a dance by one of the gentlemen, Daenerys was forced to oblige. Upon the dance floor, it was agreed that Mr Stark was such a gay and charming man, as were the many ladies of his party, for his eldest sister danced quite well and his youngest partook in the livelier ones. Mr and Miss Greyjoy did not shy away either, but the grim Mr Snow stood stiffly to the side without a thought. Rhaenys and Willas partook in many dances together, and it was seen that Mr Stark was engaged in frequent conversation with Miss Tyrell, and many gentlemen once again requested for dances until Daenerys could no longer feel her feet. Cheeks blushed with exertion and eyes sparkling with joy, she was pulled aside by her niece as they hid themselves behind one of the ledges of the balcony, excitedly whispering to one another of their encounters.

"Dany, I have the most exciting news!" Rhaenys reached into the silk bodice of her dress and pulled out a fine golden ribbon, "Willas has gifted me a ribbon he bought in the foreign shops, believing it to match my eyes!"

It was indeed a beautiful ribbon, and Daenerys murmured her congratulations before a voice suddenly left her very still.

"Shall I ever see your fine figure dancing, Mr Snow?" Mr Stark's voice cut through their whisperings, and Daenerys shushed her niece with a look before both strained their ears to hear what the gentlemen were saying. They seemed oblivious to their placement, and shuffling to some degree was heard to indicate that Mr Stark and his companion had taken to leaning against the balcony doors.

"Unless I am well acquainted with my partner, you will never." Came Mr Snow's tart reply, "Your sisters are engaged and no woman at this ball would be suitable enough to dance with me lest I deem them unworthy of society."

"What is this, Jon?" Mr Stark appeared mildly agitated at his friend's reply, "Have you experienced a lapse in your judgement? I do not think the North breeds such fine young ladies, this is the liveliest ball I have ever been in attendance, Southern women hold their beauty exceptionally well."

"That is only because you were dancing with the prettiest girl here, don't let your perspective get to you."

"Is Miss Tyrell not the loveliest woman you have ever seen? Full of wit, as well from our conversations. A perfect rose indeed. But her friends, the Targaryens, they are both exceedingly beautiful as well are they not? The younger, she looked absolutely enchanting. The men call her the Silver Goddess, and I must say her beauty is exceptional."

"I do not solely look towards beauty, Robb. If a woman does not have half the mind and intelligence then she may as well be the most unpopular female in the room. Hers is vanity, not beauty. No doubt she is prideful of her roots and far too selfish to ever be a companion."

"What is it that you are saying, then?" cried Mr Stark with an air of amusement, "that pretty women are vain and cannot think anything more of themselves than their looks and their purses?"

"Miss Tyrell seems to be of sharp wit, I am sure that she has been the exception. The eldest Miss Targaryen, she has been engaged with Mr Tyrell for half the evening, I shall have no bother from her, but the younger, her beauty only speaks of unfit upbringing I am sure. I do not doubt she will throw herself towards the richest man in the room out of no regards for anyone else but herself." He seemed to be in a snippier mood the more he spoke, and Daenerys felt any curiosity towards the man disappear, but she refused to let his comments dampen her own pride.

"You have heard of their family, Mr Snow? The Targaryen name used to be of much regard but now, considering their circumstances, I would not think ill of her if that was all she did." Mr Stark cleared his throat, "Best I leave it to you then, I shall go for another dance."

"And I shall be acquainted with the man Arya has been speaking to for the entire evening." 

The men walked off to their own devices.


	2. Quizzical Ruminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball leaves quite a few questions to be answered regarding its guests, and the Northern opinion makes itself known in the unfamiliar environment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, a chapter a day?  
> Not something to be used to, unfortunately. Thank you everyone for the lovely comments in the first chapter! Meant very much, and I am glad some people enjoy where this is headed.
> 
> If you catch the references back to the show and to other works, I hope you chuckled. 
> 
> Any suggestions or general opinions you have, feel free to leave them in the comments!  
> Enjoy.

Daenerys Targaryen felt it in good practise to consider most strangers with a wary eye, for intentions were never clear, but listening to the honest opinion of a stranger who had not even looked her in the eyes in greeting, her dragon blood rose to its ire for only a brief moment before she let out a huff of annoyance. Her niece, however, did not hesitate to share her good opinion.

"The absolute insolence of that man!" Rhaenys furiously smoothening her skirts as the two women emerged from their alcove, "Mr Snow is the most miserable fool I have ever heard speak! To a woman he has never met, no less!"

Daenerys was inclined to agree. 

"What does he hope for, coming to such a lively ball with that sort of opinion of a lady." She swept her gaze across the lively ball, from Mr Stark engaged in another dance with Miss Tyrell and the youngest Miss Stark seemingly conversing rather casually with Mr Gendry. The Baratheons, thankfully, had not attended to-night, and many ladies were happy to not be under the cruel gaze of Mr Joffrey Baratheon or of his mother. 

"Truly, does he think you so low?" Rhaenys shook her head angrily, "Outrageous. Mr Stark was so kind, too! How do his interests align with Mr Snow's?"

"I do not care for his comments." Daenerys broke off her niece's upset mutterings, and the anger in her mind slowly dissipated as she realised the necessity of _not_ dwelling in surprise for the entire evening, "Such assumptions are only untoward and I say we no longer mention him at all."

"Quite right, Dany." Rhaenys linked their arms together and they turned back into the room, "Let us find some kind young gentleman to dance."

While the ball commenced, the rest of the evening was spent in much of the same manner for each guest. Dances were offered to all, the glasses of wine and something whispered to be ale --only the men reached for those glasses-- adding to the delight of all attendees. The only man who did not seem to partake in the uproar was the strange Mr Snow, who only remained near the seats and occasionally conversing with the other members of Mr Stark's cousins. He, as elegant as his posture, was no longer approached by ladies hoping to engage in conversation, for the clipped answers soon drove everyone away. 

Mr Snow himself did not appear entirely comfortable either, eyes flickering over the heads of guests, staring rather intensely at some but not at others. One particular head that caught his attention, along with many the rest of the gentlemen present, were two women in particular. 

One, Miss Tyrell, who had long enchanted Mr Stark and the reserved Miss Stark, the former of which she danced with twice and the latter of whom she had agreed to accept an invitation to dinner at some point in the following weeks. She did seem very charming and eager to be re-acquainted with the Stark family, except Jon himself could not recall very well how they all got along in childhood. He and Robb and Theon would go on with themselves whilst the girls played in the gardens. 

And two, the elusive Miss Targaryen. The youngest and only daughter of the late Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen, he had heard someone say, young and delightfully beautiful, more freely spoken of her thoughts than a lady was. It was such a pity, they said, the accident that had killed her father, and then the one that had taken the kind and just Rhaegar away as well, along with his wife and son. Though they did not speak at all and Miss Targaryen appeared to be ignorant of his glances, Jon simply observed her from a distance. He was not a particularly tall man, though he could hold his imposing figure against those who did not understand the meaning of respect, but Miss Targaryen seemed like a petite young woman who would, only by his half-estimate, reach to his brow. He did not disagree with the opinion he had shared with Robb, but he made one minor correction to his assumptions. She did not seem wilful enough to thrust herself towards the nearest gentleman, for while Miss Targaryen appeared to be very popular with dances and many a sir let their eyes draw to her brilliantly braided silver hair that looked utterly complicated and delicate, she did not seem to reciprocate their interest. She seemed too prideful, too sure of her own fate for the taking that societal consequences did not make the matter. Jon Snow could only give a brief moment of admiration for her courage to do so. But, to settle his own opinion towards the matter once and for all, he sought another.  When he had spoken to Arya but a few moments ago, pausing politely a conversation she was engaged in with Mr Gendry, Arya had noted her particular interest. 

"She is positively delightful, Jon, truly." Arya had told him, "She saw my embroidered cloak and said the wolf was of such fine stitch."

"Did you say that it was not work of your own, then?" He asked, a smile already upon the curve of his lips as his cousin could not help but scoff.

"Of course I did, I am not entirely incompetent as much as mother says I can be." The youngest Stark sister waved a hand to where Sansa was across the room, "I told her it was Sansa's work, and then I told her needlepoint was never my forte, to which she said it wasn't hers either!"

"I do not think I like her."

"Jon!" Arya promptly tugged at his coat sleeve, "You cannot say such things at a public setting, and how wrong you are!"

"Ary-"

"No, Jon Snow. You know absolutely nothing. Miss Targaryen is precisely what she is, a Targaryen. Surely you can recall my interest in Targaryen history? I thought I would have upset her with the amount of questions I asked of her history."

"You asked her about the Targaryens?" Jon sighed, "One does not simply walk to a stranger and inquire after her family, Arya."

"Society has not stopped me yet, Jon. You cannot either." 

Jon let Miss Stark leave afterwards, the latter very clearly wishing to delve back into the clamour of the ball. He, however, was growing tired of the pomp and fanfare. As he retreated back towards his position near one of the walls, another flash of silver drew his eye. Before he could locate it, the sight disappeared in the throng of the crowd. Miss Targaryen was of great beauty, but in that moment Jon could not find it in himself to concern over such matters. Much more interesting, in fact, was Mr Stark's enamoured expression towards Miss Tyrell, while her brothers watched on with a keen eye. A few moments to himself, the familiar sight of Miss Stark appeared at his side. 

"Rather a casual sort of ball, isn't this?" She murmured, fine copper hair still impeccably done despite the dancing she had partaken in. "I almost expect a farm animal to make an appearance upon the floor."

"It is rather lively, yes." Jon surveyed the large hall, the small balcony where the musicians sat, the general heat of the room from so many people. He felt far too warm this much down south, and his suit was beginning to feel as a burden pressed against his skin. "Though I think I may prefer the forms of dresses in the South."

"Yes, they are beautiful aren't they," Sansa Stark ran a hand along the low-hanging sleeves upon her shoulders, "much more freeing than the restrictive garments in the North, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Sansa."

"Have you spoken to Miss Tyrell yet? My brother is quite enraptured by her, and I am so very happy to have found my childhood companion once more. I am considering inviting her to dine with us some evening, I would love to see her more." 

"I have not, though I suspect she is much better off without the need to converse with me. I do not hold a conversation well with those I do not know." 

"Then I am to be happy that you are able to converse with me, Jon." She eyed him expectantly, but he did not respond how she wished. 

"Aye." 

By the end of the evening, it became clear that Mr Stark's eyes had not strayed from the lovely Miss Tyrell, who had kept a charming smile upon her lips for the entire duration of the ball. When the Tyrells retired for the night, Miss Tyrell led away by her three brothers as they joined the two Targaryens in the parlour, chaperoned of course by Ser Barristan who had sworn his loyalty to the young women since they were but children, the three women could not help but feel exceptionally known towards the spark of something quite new in Miss Tyrell's eyes. As the two families parted with happy wishes to visit soon, Daenerys turned to her niece with an elusive smile. 

"I say an engagement in one year. "

"Dany!" Rhaenys laughed as the carriage door was shut, "How could you be so resistant to the powers of love, I say six months!"

"I daresay you may be right, Ness." 

They both turned their heads to look out towards the doorway of the Mormont house, where Mr Stark had lingered to wave his goodbye towards the Tyrell carriage, and both women carried happiness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friend in love. They returned to Dragonstone chatting happily of their stories, Rhaenys ever so delighted by the golden ribbon she had been gifted and Daenerys enlightening her friend on the enthusiasm of the youngest Stark sister regarding her family history with a fervour that she greatly appreciated. Upon their exit from the carriage, helped down by the firm stature of Ser Barristan, the three great beasts of guarded the estate came bounding up, learned from the many years of experience that no lady or man enjoyed being jumped upon in such fashionable clothing. Viserion and Drogon settled with a fine pat from their mother, and Rhaegal received a few scratches behind his ear from Rhaenys. 

Their uncle, Mr Targaryen, was preparing for bed by the time they returned home, and Daenerys pecked her uncle's cheek with a promise to enlighten him on their evening the following morning during a more reasonable hour. Rhaenys Targaryen fell asleep with the ribbon tied round her wrist, and Daenerys Targaryen let a fraction of her attention be towards remembering the terrible words of Mr Snow before the notion of him was dismissed entirely. Sleep came easy after a warm bath and the comfortable pillows, after all. 

* * *

Returning to Hightower Park, however, the residents did not take to retiring for their beds, rather to gather around the sitting room together and discuss their first ball away from the North. Midnight had come and gone quite easily, and their speech became much less subdued in topic and language. 

Mr Stark made no attempt to hide his interest in Miss Tyrell from the party, and said so quite proudly to his cousins and sisters. 

"I do not recall her being this beautiful when we were children," He declared, "But upon seeing Miss Tyrell I do believe no woman can ever catch my eye again."

"She _was_ one of the prettiest women at the ball," agreed Sansa, "Her confidence is utterly inspiring."

"You wish to be like her, then?" The youngest Stark sister had unwound a great deal and had taken to resting her entire body upon the lounge chair, Miss Greyjoy letting out a little snort of amusement when her friend's unbound hair lingered increasingly close to the open fire. "You used to play princesses in the gardens and would always make me drink your terrible tea."

"But mother always brewed it for us, how could it be terrible?" 

"Sansa, you do understand that mother may make the most wonderful of cakes and pies, but that her tea is never to my tastes, yes?" Arya countered, minding her unbound hair as she sat up and crossed her arms in annoyance.

"We do not speak ill of family," Robb warned without a bite to his words, "Yara has never complained of mother's tea."

"Only because it would be wrong to say so in her presence, Robb." Miss Greyjoy snickered and nudged her brother, "Theon here has had less of a fortune in that department, haven't you?"

"Oh, I was only eight!" Her brother buried his head in his hands with a groan, "How often must you remind me of the worst decision I have made in that lapse of judgement?"

"Only because you've been the only person to say what we were all thinking, Theon." Arya clapped him on the shoulder quite amiably, "I only wish I would have been able to see such a sight." 

"Believe me, you were not missing very much." Robb reached up to undo his cravat and turned his attentions towards his cousin instead. 

"Jon, did you manage to enjoy yourself at all to-day?"

"You know perfectly well how I feel towards balls where I am unfamiliar with all faces, Robb." Came his tart reply from his armchair, a small glass of whiskey bright amber in the soft candlelight. 

"Not even the pretty women could tempt him, it seems," Theon shook his head at Jon, "Though I think they did far better in the sights of others."

"Oh, such lovely dresses as well, the Northern climate could never allow such light materials. I do not think I would ever wish to leave." Sansa rose for her seat and gave a small twirl of her fluttering sash in explanation. 

"Find yourself a suitable southern husband and you shall never see the North again, then." Jon drained the remaining whiskey in his glass and nodded towards the windows, "I did not doubt seeing many a gentleman asking you for a dance." He turned to Arya as well, "And you, if I am not mistaken."

"You are not, Mr Snow." Arya quipped decidedly, "Mr Gendry. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I was rather thankful Mr Baratheon did not appear this evening to ruin our joy."

The name of Robert Baratheon came with the grimace of the entire party, Sansa for the sharp remarks Mrs Baratheon had made during their visits, Arya for the smugness of their son's character, a terrible and spoilt boy, and the Greyjoy's for their inhospitality. Mr Snow pursed his lips in distaste. 

There was one incident when they were but children, where Joffrey Baratheon had rather cruelly hunted down a rabbit upon the grounds in Winterfell and hid it in the ladies' picnic baskets, and when bullied into the river by Mr Stark and Mr Snow, both boys had been harshly reprimanded by the offender's mother. Except, much to the amusement once the Baratheons left, Lord and Lady Stark had victoriously slipped them both an extra serving of cake. Joffrey Baratheon, it appeared, was not well-liked in any age. Thankfully, the Baratheon household had decided against the rigid climate of The North and acclimated South instead. It was said that the young Mr Baratheon was in se eking of a wife soon, and the group collectively pitied the poor lady who would be forced into such a position. 

Jon continued to muse, "They did send a fine replacement, though. Mr Gendry was a very practical man. A much better character than the poor half-wit with whom he shares his name." 

"Practical is that all you think of?" Sansa gave Jon an interested smile, "How odious a task to always be in thought of your estate matters."

"I would tell you to sit, Jon, but your feet have not been in any dance and therefore does not deserve a seat at all." Arya purposefully spread her skirts even wider upon the seat, and Jon granted a light chuckle. 

"You shall know the struggle of a pragmatic mind, Sansa, should you ever manage an estate. It is not a task I would wish upon my enemies, surely you have seen Uncle give his soul to his lands."

Sansa blushed a pretty red, her tone filled with jest but partially a hopeful lilt, "Are you proposing, Mr Snow? Perhaps my father will no longer worry about Winterfell once a daughter is married."

"An amiable match to be sure, though I suspect Jon's eyes do not find any woman pretty enough for his wife." Robb eyed his cousin meaningfully, and Jon simply furrowed his brow towards his company, earning a sharp laugh from Miss Greyjoy and Arya, who seemed to share much of the same thoughts as well as temperament lately. 

"Mr Snow, always brooding I see." Yara snatched the empty whiskey glass from his hands and promptly set it on the table nearby, but never before staring at the bottle of whiskey with scrutiny before turning away, "You shall make your future wife miserable with your quizzical brow."

"Well if she is to be his wife, then she would not face the brooding, for a wife would no longer make him feel so. A true wife makes her husband happy, does she not?"

"Quite right, Sansa." Robb playfully glared at his cousin, "though in his mind pretty women are vain women and vain women are out for money."

"Oh Jon how terribly you must think of us, then!" Yara batted her eyelashes in the most unbecoming manner, and Arya did not bother to hide her laugh, though Sansa did seem to turn her nose up at the comment. 

"I only speak of what I have seen, Yara. I would certainly say that the company I keep is much better than that sort of calibre." Jon tilted his head towards Miss Stark, "I mean no offence to you, Sansa surely you must know as much."

"Mother educated me better than that, I am proud to say." Sansa shot her eyes towards her younger sister, "though unfortunately not all of us."

"Sansa!" Arya reached down for her slipper and moved to throw it towards her sister's fine auburn hair, to which Sansa gasped and hurriedly snatched the pillow next to her as defence. Robb half-heartedly said something about _formalities,_ while Theon and Yara could only roll their eyes. Jon watched his cousins send spiteful glares towards one another before Arya reluctantly dropped her slipper.

"Grow up." She crossed her arms stubbornly, and Sansa gasped.

" _Grow_ up? I am older than you by more than a year!"

"I quite liked Miss Targaryen," Arya announced loudly instead, refusing to acknowledge her sister's sputtering, to which Yara immediately hummed her approval.  "The younger sibling had the loveliest braids, I've never seen such intricacy before. How long it took her to prepare, I wonder?"

"It seemed terribly inconvenient," Sansa grumbled, clearly annoyed by the sudden change in topics. "A wasting of time, I would say. She must not be able to do it by herself, I only pity the maid braiding it for her each time."

"Her eyes! Did you see her eyes!" Arya waved both hands in excitement, again stepping over the last few words of her sister without hesitation, "They were a shade of purple!"

"Purple?!" Robb scoffed, "Is it not known that Rhaegar Targaryen was the last man with purple eyes?"

"Well, you ought not to call your sister a liar, Robb. She is very pretty." 

"Yes, you've mentioned it." Sansa gave a pointed look to Jon, as did Robb. "I believe I did overhear you saying what a selfish girl she most certainly is." 

"Jon would never let himself be swayed by a pretty girl, no matter how beautiful she appears, I am afraid."

Jon, however, did not enjoy the topic of conversation to be turned on a girl he had no interest in and towards his assumed feelings. He shot his cousins a warning look, but Robb waved it away without a second thought.

"We _did_ come South in search of possible wives, Jon. A new environment, more lovely ladies to meet. You understand."

"Yes, Jon. We are very much here to look for a companion. We already know that our fathers expect some sort of interest once we return." Theon carefully removed his starched coat before continuing, draping the offending fabric upon his arm as he spoke. "Whoever she may be."

"You know perfectly well my acceptance of my circumstances, Theon."

Jon did wish for the whisky glass back, for his words were growing sharp and he was in great deal need of some silence. His affairs in Castle Black were quite troublesome to arrange for so far of a distance away, and though he trusted Samwell's management, he still felt the strain in his mind. 

Mr Snow did understand himself the importance of a fine marriage to manage his estate, an accomplished woman who would at most hope for friendship for the future. Lady Stark, having nearly raised him for all his life alongside his cousins, had consistently hinted towards an advantageous candidate in her eldest daughter, and it seemed that over the years Miss Stark's opinion had been much of the same. Unfortunate as it was that he felt nothing towards her but a close kinship, perhaps not as close as with Arya or Robb, but a kinship nonetheless. They were bonded as siblings, and the thought of marriage between them did not strike him as considerably appealing. it was unfortunate as well that Miss Stark had yet to realise his feelings. Perhaps, he foolishly thought, she would mature enough and find a proper husband who would cherish her like he ought to. 

"Look at him, he's brooding again." 

Miss Stark tossed a curl over her shoulder and gave a small yawn. "I think that is quite the sign for us to all retire, then?" 

"Indeed, I am feeling quite tired." Robb rose from his seat and helped both his sisters rise as Theon did the same. It was indeed rather late into the morning, for goodness sake, and the ball had greatly sapped their energy. Hightower Park was still newly furnished, and though the company of six were still rather unaccustomed to their surroundings, each gentleman and lady made their way back to their own rooms and soon joined the rest of the world in their slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an updating schedule for those who are willing to stick around... I am currently at the aim of updating once a week, that sounds like a manageable goal at the moment, no? At most a chapter every two weeks, hopefully. 
> 
> This was not intended to be my NaNoWriMo, nor will it be, but I am going to attempt to follow along with the progress in constantly adding. I don't abandon my writing, so it will get done no matter how long it takes me.


	3. Lively Discourse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball is discussed with much interest among female company, and the prepared arrival of more family brings about apprehension to Dragonstone's household.

Upon the following week, when Margaery Tyrell was finally able to visit Dragonstone once more, and the three ladies sat alone together, their conversation centred much around Mr Stark. Margaery, though more reserved in opinion towards the good man at the ball as she was taught by her grandmother, expressed her keen interest in him now. 

"His honour is apparent in his mannerisms, said she, "kind and warm, such ease in a setting he did not know! The picture of a gentleman to me."

"And he is very handsome," Rhaenys pointed out, "I think half of the South is already vying after him now."

"Precisely what a young man should be." Daenerys counted on her fingers the unspoken criteria society had put forth, "Young, charming, well-spoken, and of course, rich."

"I daresay his curls are even better than yours, Margaery." Rhaenys reached over and gave a small tug of her friend's hair, but Margaery frowned slightly.

"Do not even dare joke in such a way, Ness. My hair may be the only intriguing matter about me for others." She ran her fingers through it, satisfied that there was not a tangle to be found. 

"Imagine the feeling tenfold, Margaery. Silver is not a particularly common colour in Westeros, I have learnt."

Daenerys Targaryen spoke true, for ever since she was a child her family's silver hair and purple eyes had set them upon a realm of detachment, and her Valyrian features had only chosen to make themselves more apparent as time grew. After Summerhall, though, after the terrible tragedy that had befallen the Targaryen Household, the looks of wonder had been replaced for quite a long time with pity. She did not wish for their pity. She wished for acceptance. Margaery gazed fondly at the brilliant sheen of silver of her friend's hair. Rhaenys had inherited the rich brown hair of her mother. 

"When he asked me to dance for the second time with equal fervour, I was hardly aware that I could garner such an action!" Margaery continued on as she sipped her tea, a happy gleam in her eyes as her friends looked on with mild amusement at seeing her so happy. 

"Compliments and inquiries from gentlemen always take _you_ by surprise, at least." Rhaenys nodded her head towards her aunt seated upon the window ledge, "Never by us. Do give yourself more credit, Margaery. The most natural action of an infatuated man is to ask for another dance, after all! Being one of the most beautiful women at the ball I am sure he could have not thought of another course to take." 

Daenerys cocked her head and gave a telling look, "I give you full permission to like his character, Margaery. I daresay you have liked many a less charming person."

"Dany!"

"We have known you enough to speak the truth, surely. You think too carefully of your words I am afraid, it is the attention upon your well-being of your brothers. Never a disagreeable opinion out of your mouth in all the years we have known one another." 

At the word "brother" uttered from her lips, the three dogs, who had taken to laying at Daenerys' feet to bask in the warm sun that came in from the windows, perked up curiously, only to return to their rest when realising that it was not meant in reference to them.

"Well, my brothers do care for me far too much for my liking," Margaery finally relented to her point and set her cup upon the table. She blinked. "But I do not wish to judge anger anyone with harsh words."

"Well, as long as you speak your mind and do not allow your good opinion to remain a secret, you may very well continue to do so for the rest of your life." 

"You are in no position to speak, Ness!" Daenerys censured her niece with a laugh, "For you think too kindly of everyone!" 

"I most certainly do not!" Rhaenys countered, "No more than you, at least!"

"Oh, well dear that is certainly false." Margaery raised her head and announced to the empty room. "Daenerys Stormborn may be the most cautious woman I have ever met!"

"Well, cautious without reason, I should say." She did not attempt to defend herself too much from the observation, for the three women all knew that it rang with the full degree of truth. Instead, Daenerys turned her attention back towards Rhaenys.

"Have you ever felt a man disagreeable, Ness?"

"Of course I have! Did you not hear my complaints against Mr Snow just a few days prior?"

"Well, before you had overhead his declaration I recall you felt him misunderstood."

"Yes, well." Rhaenys pursed her lips, "that was before he so rudely called an absolute stranger of my family a vain and desperate woman without thought of others. Your compassion, Dany, I do not know how you possess it with such fervour while being hesitant towards every person you face." 

"That truly was absolutely despicable of him, but I have not had a conversation with Mr Snow at all." Margaery glanced at Daenerys with an apologetic smile. 

"What did you think of his sisters, then?" Daenerys asked, knowing full well the happiness Margaery had felt towards seeing Miss Stark once more, though in truth her good opinion was more directed towards the attitudes of the younger sister. Miss Stark had studied her with a decidedly unwelcoming air for the evening until eventually, she had turned away for a conversation with Mr Snow. How Mr Snow became familiar towards the Stark household, no one knew. 

"Oh, I was hesitant in the beginning, but Sansa has grown into such a lovely lady as well! It was delightful to become reacquainted with her. Her younger sister was much of a toddler when we used to visit, so I confess that I do not recall much of her. Dany, were you not the one who spoke with Arya?"

"Indeed, such a sprightly and exploring girl. I quite enjoy her company, at least. She asked me about Targaryen history, so I would count my love for literature useful in such a manner."

The conversation thus dropped into more topics, but Daenerys listened to the light-hearted chatter in silence, for she was not convinced of the elder Miss Stark's hospitality. They had not attended the ball for any specific purpose, more for the change of socialisation with a smaller party without all of the families in attendance, and so with a slightly less inclined air and power of observation, she did not consider the eldest Miss Stark to be a particular friend. She was well-minded, agreeable when entertained and in good spirits, quite beautiful and very well-educated, with a fine salary for her choosing considering the wealth of her brother, but proud and conceited. Daenerys quickly found her habit of socialising with those of rank, and therefore did not feel particular animosity towards the woman, for there was no reason for her to be marked with disdain for her behaviour. She could not help but recall Cersei Lannister, Mrs Baratheon who had held the same air about her figure. 

* * *

The Starks were of a deeply historical and proudly respected family, as were each of the five grand families that had once ruled over Westeros back in the times of stout loyalty, and had established themselves as the grandest family in the North. Mr Stark had inherited a large sum from his late father and had intentions to purchase an estate further South once his titles were passed for his son, but did not live long enough to do so, for a hunting accident had left Mr Stark as the Lord of Winterfell, but the young wolf still held the sum in the intention for its original purpose, though anyone who understood the calm and easy manners of Mr Stark knew it probable that Hightower Park be his residence for the following generation to continue the quest. It appeared that Lady Stark and Miss Stark were wishful for a residence of their own, and Mr Stark had hardly left for his first venture South before taking an immediate liking to Hightower, and had taken to tenancy at once. Such was the manner in which Mr Stark had come to the South. 

Mr Snow had a much less renown background, and though it was much public knowledge in the colder regions of Westeros and much less in the South, it was generally understood that he was in fact somewhat of a close cousin from the Stark household, the son of the late Lord Stark's sister, who had married a very prominent family that controlled a vast amount of land in The Gift, but in honour of his purely northern roots, had taken to fashioning his surname of Snow. Lord and Lady Ryder had perished, the latter from the difficult birth of their son and the former months prior. Though head of the vast estates, Lady Stark had fostered him in their home alongside his cousins, the eldest of which was of the same age, and therefore created a deep friendship that did not falter despite the difference of character. Robert Stark was of open and easiness, the mildest of his temper and intelligence of a well-bred gentleman adhered him to his cousin, who's own contrasted far differently to the charming smiles and pleasantries, never appearing to be upset. From Mr Snow, Robb Stark took the stability of his judgement, each decision resolute in its making and reliable in all its ways. In societal intelligence, Mr Stark was superior. His upbringing had been detailed in its extensive knowledge of history, of etiquette and such. In understanding, Mr Snow took the upper hand between the two cousins. His life experiences, the unfortunate tragedies that had seemed to plague his life, which resulted in months of living in the most Northern points of Westeros and his thrusting into the head of a household he did not know, made him perceptible and wise. He was, also, haughty in his manners, quiet and stiff in his socialisations, and did not pertain to a welcoming figure. In that respect, Mr Stark held the advantage. While both gentlemen would surely attract curious eyes, it would be Mr Stark who took their good opinion. 

Their conversation overheard by the Miss Targaryens were, therefore, entirely accurate in their presentation of character. Mr Stark had found one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and had a delightful time dancing with the ladies in attendance, quickly becoming familiar with the residents of the area. Mr Snow, however, sensed an over-dramatic flair in many of the attendees, and had the most minute amount of interest in, and in doing so had none of the guests engage in him as well. Miss Tyrell was acknowledged as being beautiful, but Mr Snow felt personally that she had perhaps smiled too much at every man. 

Miss Stark had expressed her resolute opinion towards Miss Tyrell as utterly delightful, a wonderfully caring and preceptive young lady, who had expressed her wish to so dearly become well-acquainted with her once more that her brother felt more gratitude of a similar opinion. The younger Miss Stark, unbeknownst to her party except for Miss Greyjoy, had spent a great deal of the evening in the presence of the younger Miss Targaryen, for her niece had been dancing with Mr Tyrell and others for most of the night. She also adamantly expressed her interest in the silver-haired girl, and Mr Stark willingly obliged as well. 

* * *

As the Baratheon and Martell Family had all been without attendance to the ball at Mr Mormont's home, the Targaryen women and Miss Tyrell soon found it very much necessary to call upon their friends in the neighbouring estates to explain the lively affair, to which Miss Myrecella Baratheon and Miss Arianne Martell were soon brought to Dragonstone for a lively discussion. They were all of similar age, though Miss Shireen had just be presented to society quite recently by her family, Miss Martell was of a few years older than them, and therefore the five women made excellent company together. It was very necessary, as seen, that Mrs Martell and Mr Lannister accompany them to Dragonstone as well, for both also greatly enjoyed the company of Mr Targaryen. 

While Mr Lannister did not take great pleasure in the tittering of gossip, nor did the topic intrigue Mir Targaryen, the ladies were content to sit upon the drawing-room in lively discussion while the men conversed quietly. 

"A gentleman's first dance is always very telling, you know." Spoke Mrs Martell with an air of wisdom, "Margaery you have done wonderfully for yourself."

"Did Uncle Oberyn ask you as his first dance, then?" Daenerys asked her good-aunt, to which she smiled, soft brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Indeed. The lightness of foot was much appreciated. The Dornish are always so much more inclined towards the arts." 

"And I have the lightest foot of all if only one would accept my invitation for dance." Announced Mr Lannister with a tone as droll as his wit, a flute of what looked suspiciously to be wine held in his hands as he sat in the large armchair near Mr Targaryen. Mrs Martell shook her head fondly. 

"Tyrion, you are in the companies of very fine women, your sharpness could be dulled."

"Oh he speaks like this at home nearly all the time," Myrecella told them, "It is quite amusing seeing my brother get upset. Though..." She trailed off, green eyes downcast as she realised that she had just admitted to taking pleasure in the foul attitude of her brother. Margaery patted the girl's hand sympathetically.

"I think it safe to say that the entirety of The Stormlands, Crownlands, and Dorne combined could not differ from your opinion, Myrecella. Did you know what he said to Daenerys when we were children?"

"Oh dear, I do not think I ought to know." 

"Enough of polluting my niece's thoughts of her family," Tyrion took a sip of the wine and waved his hands away before Myrecella could respond, "Be ladies for once."

"Is her family not yours as well, Mr Lannister?" Daenerys inquired innocently, to which the man winced into his cups. It was known, after all, that though his brother treated him with the kindness and respect of a proper sibling, his sister did not hesitate in her opinions towards her youngest brother. Nor did their father, it seemed. He shook his head. 

"More than you could know, my dear. Now leave me to my wallowing."

Mr Targaryen held a ghostly smile on his lips as the women begrudgingly obliged to turn back towards their original topic of discussion. 

"Well, I think he's a fine man." Rhaenys said, "You must attend the next ball Myrecella, and Arianne I think you would find him very agreeable company."

"Hm." Arianne pursed her lips fondly, "He certainly seems the character."

"Wait until we speak of Mr Snow," Daenerys told her friend with a shared look of mischief, "I think you will be quite delighted."

"Yes, please, do get on with it."

Margaery then turned to Arianne and Myrecella, "They have refused to tell me of what terrible offence Mr Snow has committed, can you believe such a thing?" 

"Oh the horror of gossip," Mrs Martell leaned forward with interest, clasping her hands in her lap expectantly, "How is this Mr Snow?"

"Well, a week is quite a long time to sit on such information, so do not act as if it was our pleasure to do so, Mrs Martell," Rhaenys told her.

"We overheard a conversation of his with Mr Stark, you see. Mr Stark expressed his pleasantries for Margaery's presence," Daenerys gave a nod of acknowledgement towards her friend, "and Mr Snow admitted that he felt I vain and intense in my search for a husband to which I would no doubt throw myself towards the nearest gentleman with a fortune." 

"Good heavens! That's a very strong opinion to make."

"He said more!" Rhaenys objected, growing more animated as she caught the eyes of the other women, "He deemed her unworthy of society and thought her intelligence severely lacking despite having not a single exchange of words!"

"Poor Daenerys! Mr Snow is not as kind as his friend, then is he?" said Arianne "Poor Daenerys to be simplified into such a creature!"

"Well, it was in poor taste to deem Dany as vain, I heard from Mrs Dayne personally that she sat next to him for the majority of the evening nearby and he spoke not a single word!" 

"Are you sure, Margaery?" Rhaenys furrowed her brow, "I was very certain I saw Mr Snow speak to her, at least."

"Only because Mrs Dayne asked how she found the south, Nessie. It appeared that he responded out of reluctance." Daenerys paused. "Though Mrs Dayne confided to say that he seemed incredibly angry and upset at being engaged into a conversation with."

"I believe I heard from Miss Stark that he does not speak much unless in particularly intimate and close company. When she speaks with _him_ he appears to be sociable and kind."

"Not a particularly convincing statement if you ask me." sniffed Myrecella. "Mrs Dayne is quite a lovely woman, had he been sociable like Miss Stark so said he would have conversed with her, no?" 

"Do you have a theory, then?" Rhaenys asked, to which the young girl nodded surely. 

"You say he is prideful?"

"Yes."

"Then I think it far more likely that she heard Mrs Dayne has no carriage and had to come by other means, and only refused to hold a conversation with someone who he deems a low social status."

"Well, what a haughty man." Mrs Martell murmured, "I would have liked to have heard of some sort of dance but it appears not."

"Oh absolutely not, Dany you mustn't dance with him. Some other times perhaps when he becomes...more sociable." Myrecella told her.

"It would have been easier to forgive," announced Margaery, "had there been a reason of his pride then I could have excused it for nervousness, but this unbridled emotion from his stature is too haughty for my tastes entirely."

"Perhaps I could have allowed him such leeway, Margaery, had he not labelled me as such a woman," Daenerys said, and Arianne gave a nod of sympathy. 

"Do we not all suffer from pride?" called Mr Lannister from the corner of the room, goblet finished and blue eye staring with a glint of amusement as Myrecella repressed a fond smile towards her uncle. "Were you as rich as Mr Snow, would you not be held in such high regard?"

"Well, I suppose so," Arianne conceded, "But many a lesser man would no doubt turn to wine and the hunt."

"Arianne, don't insult Mr Baratheon in such a manner!" Rhaenys called with jest, to which the entire room erupted in muffled giggles and chuckles, young Miss Baratheon even shaking her head wearily at the accusations of her father. Mr Baratheon was not well-liked in the South, for his brash behaviour and outspoken opinions. Daenerys would never speak ill of her friend's father, but she had felt many times the wandering eyes of Mr Baratheon find its way to her figure. Myrecella made a half-hearted attempt to defend him, while Mr Lannister only laughed with the rest of them, eventually Myrecella given up defending her family, succumbing to the amusement as well. 

In the evening, once Miss Tyrell had returned to Highgarden with her brother, Miss Martell had left with her aunt, and Miss Baratheon was accompanied back to Casterly Rock with her Uncle, the two Miss Targaryens seated themselves in the parlour while dinner was being prepared in the kitchens. Missandei was presumably off to her own devices, perhaps in the library for the evening reading to Uncle Aemon. 

"Has Viserys written yet?" Rhaenys asked her aunt, the whereabouts of her uncle quite vague considering the lack of interaction between Viserys and Rhaenys during their childhood. Daenerys knew that her brother felt much less keen towards their niece, for they had spent much of their youth apart, Daenerys and Viserys residing in Dragonstone and Rhaenys in Summerhall, the home that they had many fond memories of in their joys. Daenerys answered her niece honestly. 

"Only a few days ago. He is returning from Essos within the month. He hopes that my health is fair, as yours and Uncle Aemon's."

"Within the month?"

"Yes, he was apparently in Braavos discussing financial matters with our father's previous connections, something of the sort in securing transactions." 

"I would like to visit Essos, should I ever have the chance to do so," admitted Rhaenys, who's kind nature would never admit her lamentations as a child in watching her aunt and uncle spend their summers overseas while she was confined to the ever-imposing fortress of Dragonstone. The grim and imposing decorations that had belonged to the late Aerys Targaryen were stored neatly away elsewhere, and when Rhaegar had been head of the household had greatly altered the dark tapestries into a lighter, more inviting home for his siblings and daughter. Still, though, many of the imposing portraits of the Targaryen family lingered. Daenerys felt a small smile creep upon her lips.

"Perhaps Viserys may bring back some small trinkets from Essos for us, the dresses there were made of the softest sand silk, did you know?"

"Of course, Dany," murmured Rhaenys, "The cloth you brought from Braavos when you first went has no doubt been touched into tatters."

Said fabric was a lovely silk scarf that Daenerys had brought with her back to Dragonstone after she and Viserys had been quickly ushered home at the expense of terrible news, and though the shores of the furthest borders of Dragonstone allowed from much sunlight, the small fabric did not impose more upon their spirits in its lightness and craftmanship. 

"He seemed in high spirits in his letter, though." Daenerys mused, the papers in question sitting on her writing desk and the large signature of _Viserys Targaryen_ written proudly at the bottom and began with _My dear sister._ "A very good outcome is to be expected, when he returns should circumstances deem it. What such an outcome is he failed to mention."

"I do not know Viserys and his temperament as well as you surely do, Dany. But I fear his intentions have only worsened since."

Daenerys gave her niece a shake of her head. "My brother has not been in the strongest of mind, but I know he thinks of the best for our family through any means."

"I do not blame him for his disgust towards Mr Baratheon and Mr Lannister, though," Rhaenys called to mind both the beautiful landscape of Summerhall and the future resident of Dragonstone. "I cannot stand their presence for more than an instant. At least Myrecella is so lovely and Mr Lannister's two sons are excellent company."

"No one is guilty of the sins of their father."

"No," Rhaenys laid a hand on the younger woman's arm comfortingly, "No they are not."

* * *

In the night, when Dragonstone had settled into its comforts of slumber and the only sound to be heard the quiet rustling of the willows and the very, very faint sound of the waves lapping against the cliffs, Daenerys lay awake in her bed. Rhaenys had retired to her own rooms, Mr Targaryen was perhaps in his study or asleep as well, and the single light into the estate was from the brilliant shine of the moon that crept through the open curtains of her chamber. She had not seen her brother for a matter of nearly five months, and still, she had not forgotten the parting words he had spoke to her before he boarded the ship to Braavos. 

_Worry not, Daenerys._ He had told her with a smile that spoke to none of his delicate mind, _I will save this family from destitution. We will regain Summerhall from the Usurper and return to our former glory._

The Usurper. That was what he had so splittingly called Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister. It was indeed incredibly shocking to the community the way they had graciously claimed freshly-cleared land without hesitation, and though Summerhall remained in ruins, Daenerys knew that her memories of it would never depart. In truth, she did not know if it _would_ be the best decision, should Summerhall ever be returned to their name, for it to be rebuilt. Since its burning, each Targaryen had left something in the fire behind forever. For Rhaenys Targaryen, she had departed without a mother. For Rhaegar Targaryen, the guilt weighing upon his shoulders, he returned from Essos to find no wife waiting for him, no unborn son to protect. He lost his father that day, as did Viserys, as did Daenerys. Mother had long departed, the birth long and difficult enough that Viserys, in his anger would still remind her of what she had done. 

But the youngest Targaryen let something more slip through her fingers. At the tender age of nine years old, Viserys Targaryen lost his heart. Daenerys lost a brother that evening too, should she ever care to dwell upon matters. In its place remained a half-transformed young man, who rarely let an easy smile grace his Valryian features. Daenerys turned her head to catch a glimpse at her pale reflection in the windows as the thought crossed her mind. Since Summerhall, since she was only six years old with only a slightly overbearing and prideful brother, she had none by her side at age twenty but an admittedly shrewd and suspicious young man to call her sibling. Having little association with Rhaenys, he only minded himself solely to his only sister. Rhaegar had certainly tried his best in controlling his younger brother, doting on Daenerys and frequently showing her the things their mother had adored. Now, with Uncle Aemon looking after them, Daenerys felt her heart stutter into normalcy. Perhaps the sun had faired her brother well. Viserys had always loved the brilliant sunshine Essos provided, as did she. Though the subject of marriage did not often cross her thoughts, Daenerys still whispered one wish to the gods she did not follow that perhaps one day, her future husband may allow them a visit to the beautiful cities across the sea. The last sound to reach her ears was the soft panting of Drogon who had taken it upon himself to guard her bed. With one last sigh, Daenerys Targaryen let her dreams wander. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've added a few more characters. Some more prominent than others, I should say. Alas, the geography of this Westeros is highly questionable.


	4. Visitations of the Neighbourly Sort

The Stark ladies and their cousin soon found it necessary to call upon Dragonstone and Highgarden. While the elder Miss Stark had insisted to wait upon Highgarden, to which her brother greatly took delight in, the younger Miss Stark took the same, if not more, fervour in travelling to Dragonstone as well. Sansa would be unable to visit Highgarden without a proper chaperone or company, and as Arya and Yara had adamantly refused company until they would be allowed to visit Dragonstone, it was decided that both would be their destination. 

The former excursion followed as thus:

Miss Tyrell's kind disposition greatly pleased Sansa Stark, and though they found her brothers to also be of excellent company, her younger sister and cousin quickly grew weary of the conversation topics. Such discussion was held in the famed rose gardens within the estate, and Miss Stark quickly found it much more jovial to wander around the garden paths with Miss Greyjoy and to leave her elder sister in deep engagement towards the Tyrell Household. They were all, however, enchanted by the sharp tongue of Mrs Tyrell, and left the estate in high spirits with promise for an extended dinner invitation some time in the future once Hightower be ready for presentation. Their visit to Dragonstone, however, was much less of the standard social visitation, and much more interesting and engaging than Highgarden had been. 

* * *

Upon Miss Stark's stepping down from the carriage, the three young women were immediately met with a loud and quite startling bark from a place unseen, which had then quickly been followed by the appearance of two great beasts that came up from over the wandering slopes of the estate, so large that the eldest Miss Stark promptly let out a cry of horror and immediately bound back up the carriage and shut the door. Unfortunately, as the great furred animals approached with great speed, it became clear that their stature would allow them to reach up to the carriage door should it be necessary. Before the two could reach the black carriage, however, and while Miss Stark clutched her sister's hand in fear whilst the other two ladies of the party watched on with rapt horror and muted excitement at the approach of such large animals, a clear and commanding voice called out from somewhere along the gentle hills.

"Viserion, Rhaegal! Dēmagon!"

Immediately, only perhaps three persons away from their horses, which were apparently unbothered by the presence of the creatures as blocked by the blinders that covered their eyes, the two beasts stopped. Arya Stark promptly removed her sister's grip with pursed lips as she and Miss Greyjoy shared a look of mild exasperation. Upon closer inspection, however, the awe returned. The beasts, one of a magnificent grey coat and the other a fine golden colour, were dogs of great stature and breeding. Before either could speak, the quick footsteps of a person reached their ears, and the figure of a young woman came from behind the estate. 

"Keligon!" She called, and once again the two dogs gave on lingering gaze towards the carriage before turning around and trotting to the woman. It was immediately obvious, by the brilliant head of silver hair that looked to be braided excellently, that this woman was the youngest Miss Targaryen. The dogs received a gentle pet and a slight tap upon their snouts before Miss Targaryen harried her gait and went quickly to the carriage, where the three young women cautiously sat. 

"Miss Starks, Miss Greyjoy, how good of you to come!" She was slightly out of breath as she spoke, pale cheeks slightly pink with exercise as she gestured to the two dogs at her side. "Viserion and Rhaegal heard your arrival before I did, I'm afraid, I hope they did not cause you any harm?"

"What are they?" Arya asked with much interest, a pair of gold and green eyes staring aptly at her person, and she was quickly admonished by her elder sister with a stern frown, to which she ignored. "They are absolutely magnificent!" As the horses were led to the stables by the proper persons, Arya helped herself down from the carriage quickly, the two animals staring unblinkingly as Miss Targaryen gave a proud smile. 

"They are my pets. They were gifted to me by my late brother when I was a child from Essos. They are wonderful company and truly quite gentle." 

"They are your _pets?!"_ Called Sansa from her carriage seat, "Surely they do not live with you? In your home?!"

"As if you do not have wolves in Winterfell, Sansa." Arya told her sister before she turned to Miss Targaryen with earnest, "They are beautiful." 

"Thank you." The silver-haired woman nodded appreciatively. "Miss Greyjoy, Miss Stark, would you care to come inside?"

"Delighted, Miss Targaryen." Miss Greyjoy promptly stepped down as well and offered a hand to the two dogs to sniff at, an offer they took to appreciatively. "They are quite massive creatures."

Miss Greyjoy spoke true, for simply sitting on their haunches the two dogs reached the height of their chest, and surely if they leapt would clear the carriage without difficulty. As Arya peered at them, they were nearly at her level of eyesight. 

"Yes, they were but pups when I first received them." Came Miss Targaryen's reply, "Miss Stark they will not harm you, but should you be more comfortable if I sent them away?"

The three women turned to see Miss Stark still seated primly in the carriage, and after a moment of silence, she shook her head reluctantly. 

"No, that will not be necessary." She stepped down with the help of the footman, but still did not take a step further towards the large animals. "So you keep two of these in your home?"

"Three. Their brother is upon the terrace where my niece is waiting. Shall we join them?" Miss Targaryen motioned the two dogs at her side with a tilt of her head, and with a wave of her hand the two beasts rose from their haunches and bounded off in the general direction. Miss Greyjoy nodded her head appreciatively. 

"They are very well-trained. I would hate to see their ire risen."

"A fearsome thing to behold, surely. They have protected me from harm a great many times over the years and can no doubt take a grown man down with ease." Miss Targaryen led the party of three women around the large estate as she spoke, head held high and purple irises fondly gazing towards her trotting hounds in the distance ahead of them. Miss Stark felt personally that while the woman's dress was of certainly fine material, a beautiful light blue colour with white flowers embroidered at the hem and the bodice, it also appeared to be rather aged in appearance. Miss Targaryen wore no bonnet upon her head, to which Sansa Stark gave a small shake of her head towards the fine silver hair that fell free rather than pinned up. Arya had taken a liking to Miss Targaryen after their conversations from the ball, for she did not seem to be of a woman who took to heart the many rather pompous rules of society, to which the North certainly followed with much more rigour. Arya herself had kept her hair short in a rising style, which rose to the exasperation of both her mother and her elder sister. Her brothers and cousins, however, had much less to say towards her free spirit, and she suspected Miss Targaryen to be much of the same. 

Running along the edge of the estate, perhaps a good few steps above the grounds, was the lovely terrace that Miss Targaryen had previously mentioned. Dragonstone's imposing walls did little to dampen its stature over the many years, but Miss Stark did not feel particularly foreboding as she watched the two dogs trot up the steps, where another young woman was waiting with an outstretched hand. By her side, the third dog had appeared into their sights. 

Miss Targaryen's beasts, it seemed, trusted her indefinitely. As their mistress came towards them, the three waited patiently for her to step upon the stone terrace, sparing the strangers only one lingering glance before Viserion and Rhaegal wandered near the tables to their own devices. Arya heard her sister gasp once more as they climbed the steps. 

"Oh my!"

The third dog, one with a fine coat of black and stunningly red eyes, was larger than the other two of his brothers. Miss Targaryen greeted him with a soft murmur and a scratch behind an ear, but the great beast came to her chin, the slightly chilled air from the sea some ways away making the estate steady enough for its thick coat to be of little burden. His red eyes sought theirs curiously, but with something softly spoken to the dog by Miss Targaryen, he turned away as well. Sansa did not lose the rigidity of her form. Miss Greyjoy and she, however, were much in awe. 

"Miss Stark, Miss Greyjoy," greeted whom they recognised to be the elder Miss Targaryen as she rose from a small curtsey, "I hope my Daenerys' children did not give you a fright. They shall not bother us." She turned and extended a hand towards the table upon the terrace and small items already arranged. "Your journey has surely made you weary. Some tea, perhaps?"

* * *

Arya Stark found the Miss Targaryens to be of delightful company as well, for Rhaenys and Daenerys had the careful upbringing of a noble stature despite their circumstances, and spoke with both poise and intelligence. Rhaenys, however, was a great deal more sociable in the southern manner they were accustomed to, and smiled often and remained in good spirits for the majority of the conversation. The younger, perhaps more reserved among company, expressed her own opinions with much truth and openness. Arya Stark felt as if she had much of the same temperament as her cousin. Gradually, the conversation turned back towards the three dogs that lay obediently at Miss Targaryen's feet, silent but alert to the surrounding area. 

"What breed are they?" Sansa asked finally, "I do not think I have seen such stature in standard dogs."

"I believe these were originally of Northern descent, bred as an enemy to any beast of harm. Wolves, certainly." Daenerys answered, to which the former's lips thinned slightly. 

"Well, I do believe you ought not to visit the North with your hounds at your side then." 

"We own wolves," Arya hastily explained for her sister's slightly triumphant expression, "The Stark name has a direwolf for our estates and my father happened upon a mother with its pups when we were only just children."

"A direwolf!" Rhaenys exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder, "I thought they were extinct!"

"Not quite, to be sure," Miss Greyjoy said with authority, "The late Lord Stark found a direwolf litter in the woods, each of the Stark children received one."

"Five dire wolves upon the same estate?" Daenerys murmured, "I daresay they cause even more trouble than these do, wild dire wolves at that." She sipped her tea thoughtfully as Miss Stark broke into a slightly smug smile. 

"My direwolf Lady is even better behaved than a normal dog, truthfully. Docile and very kind. We have six, truly. We consider Jon to be family already, and he has one too."

"Jon?" Purple eyes rose to blue in confusion, Miss Targaryen's brow delicately furrowed.

"Forgive me, Miss Daenerys. Mr Snow, as known to others."

"An interesting man, to be sure." Said Rhaenys, "Your brother was a very welcome delight to our dear friend Miss Tyrell at the ball some time ago. We had not known Northerners to be so warm and welcoming."

"My mother is from Riverrun," Sansa explained with pride, "Northerners are indeed a much a fickle person, but we have been raised in no such manner."

"You certainly belong south then, Miss Stark. There is so little seen of such auburn hair." Rhaenys nodded to Miss Greyjoy as well, "Southerners are very hopeful of such pale complexions but alas the sun has rarely broken its gaze." 

"There are no purple eyes and silver hair in any of Westeros except your family, Miss Targaryen," noted Miss Greyjoy, "Your beauty is great if I may say such a thing."

Miss Targaryen blushed prettily at the compliment, "Thank you, Miss Greyjoy. Though I daresay that my beauty is not one comparable to my ancestors." 

"Valryian history is absolutely delightful, thank you for indulging my questions at the ball," Arya quickly told her, "Your ancestors have no doubt given you their best qualities as well."

"My niece takes after her mother, but there is also the exotic beauty of the Dornish, is there not?" She gestured to Rhaenys, to which the latter promptly shook her head. 

"Enough of that, Dany, your beauty is much more than mine, only a fool would dare to differ in truth."

"Then we are all fools, Nessie, for where my beauty is cold, yours is warm."

"Well, you are Valyrian by blood as well, if I may say so," Miss Greyjoy said to the blushing young woman, "There is magic in your veins, though I must admit that the library on the Iron Islands is much lacking in the Southern tastes."

"Should you ever wish to learn more, Dragonstone's library is aptly stocked with such literature." Rhaenys motioned towards the granite walls of their home, "It may look imposing, but we promise that the atmosphere is very inviting should you wish to enter."

"Oh, that won't be ne-" Miss Stark began to say, a kind rejection already upon her lips, but her younger sister spoke instead. 

"Thank you!" Arya gave her older sister a brief look before she turned back to her hosts. "Thank you very much for the invitation."

"I am in no place to speak, either," Miss Greyjoy said, "But I will say that Mr Stark would be delighted should you choose to call upon Hightower Park as well."

"Certainly, shall we return to Winterfell and ever find use to travel North, we shall be open to you too," Arya noted her sister's mild distaste at her words clearly enough, though it seemed that it had gone unnoticed by the rest of the party. 

"Well, I don't suppose your pets would be very much suited for Winterfell, I am afraid." Sansa nodded apologetically to the three beasts at their mistress's side, "Our home's affinity to our dire wolves is too much to be apart."

"On the contrary Miss Stark, Drogon and his brothers will not attack your wolves, they do not harm those without mal intentions. I suppose they might even get along." Daenerys reached down and met the eyes of her largest beast. He lay his head back on his paws and continued to pay the ladies no mind. 

There was a brief lapse of conversation as the five women took their tea, the cool breeze that blew up from the far away cliffs rustling the trees surrounding the lower terrace. Finally, Rhaenys broke the silence. 

"Miss Stark," She addressed, "How do you find the South to your liking?"

"Sansa, please." She gave a hesitant smile towards the two Targaryen women, "I do believe we expect to see one another very soon in the future considering our proximity of estates and want of mutual connection."

"Likewise, as well, Miss Sansa. How has the weather here compared to the crispness of the North?" 

"It is much more fair, I shall be happy admit," Sansa mused, "I do adore the dresses and the fabrics a great deal, I should find time to visit the town shops soon in search for some lighter clothing perhaps." 

"The town shops are a delightful way of spending an afternoon, they have a lovely selection of ribbons as well." Rhaenys offered helpfully, "Should any of you ever wish for accompaniment we would be happy to venture there as well." 

"I suppose we may need to follow your suggestions in the future, then."

"Miss Arya, may I call you such?"

"You may, Miss Daenerys."

"Miss Arya, I do believe there is a shop in the town that may be of much interest to you. They sell defensive finery for ladies, a very exclusive store indeed."

"Defensive...finery?" Miss Arya furrowed her brow, the words familiar but concept unknown. They certainly did not have such wares in the North for her to examine.

"Oh yes, ladies require protection, after all. I am fortunate enough that the Targaryen name kept many such blades within the household. But small pins, perhaps, little daggers to place around the home for defences, it is very useful for precaution. They have an excellent arrangement of bows and arrows as well."

"Well, I have never heard of such a thing!" Exclaimed Miss Sansa, "What is the use of such finery when gentlemen are perfectly apt in aiding for the protection of women! Certainly, you do not know how to handle a sword, Miss Targaryen!"

"There are not always men there to come to your aid, Miss Stark." Came the civil but no less cold reply of Daenerys Targaryen, "And while I may be unskilled in the ways of such brutish sport, I find it in good conscience to bring along with me a dagger should the brush to be too difficult to handle." 

"Hm. I suppose that could be excused, then." Miss Stark sipped her tea with her eyes lowered, but her sister could see that she had been properly reprimanded. She, however, was promptly intrigued, and her interest in the younger Miss Targaryen grew in magnitude. 

"That is a very interesting idea of a store indeed, Miss Daenerys. I will be sure to visit it sometime. I do not doubt your judge of character."

"Perhaps you should," Rhaenys jested with a smile, gifting a playful look to her aunt, "Our Daenerys has been known to be far too cautious for our liking, and has made a judge of character to all persons within moments of meeting!"

"A trait only reserved to the men, it seems." Miss Greyjoy turned to the three dogs. "Do they know any tricks, Miss Daenerys?"

"Well, my brother used to enjoy taking them out for hunting whenever the season came about, there is finely stocked game here, but they have not been exercised in such a way for quite a while."

"Such a shame."

"It is indeed." 

* * *

Soon enough, though the visit was quite short, the Targaryens and Starks, and one Miss Greyjoy, soon found it enough conversation to depart, and though through etiquette a dinner invitation was presented, the Starks found it necessary to return to Hightower Park for their meals, to which the Targaryens acquiesced. The three great beasts, which had greeted them in the most unexplained manner when they arrived, saw them off as well. Miss Daenerys and Miss Rhaenys stood in front, the three dogs lined behind their mistress's skirts and focused their unblinking eyes upon the exiting party. Miss Stark did not find the fact particularly pleasing, and only felt her body still when she was no longer within distance of them, while the younger gave each a lingering wave before climbing into the carriage. Miss Greyjoy, rather than leaving with a curtsey as was customary, gave each lady a bow instead. This seemed to be of much delight to Miss Daenerys, and to the wry amusement of her niece. The Starks left in quite high spirits just as the sun began to find its way down the horizon from its perch, and in the glowing light, it almost seemed as if Dragonstone itself was glowing. Miss Arya Stark found it a lovely sight to look upon and turned to her sister curiously. 

"I did not realise Miss Rhaenys was the niece of Miss Daenerys, I thought them, sisters?"

"Did you not listen to Miss Tyrell at all?!" Scolded Sansa Stark, "We were at tea with her for nearly three hours and you do not remember any of our discussion?"

"In all honesty, Sansa, I did not find it necessary to pay attention once you began speaking of handsome men, so I simply began wandering instead."

The elder Miss Stark moved to reprimand her sister, but Miss Greyjoy leaned forward from the opposite seat, "I do not blame her, Sansa. I too found it troublesome. But the gardens were too beautiful not the be distracting. Did you see the roses?"

"Fine." Sansa huffed, "But yes. Miss Rhaenys is the niece of Miss Daenerys. I believe she is only a year or so older than the younger. Miss Tyrell said that she is the daughter of the late Mr Targaryen, Miss Targaryen's eldest brother. But to my knowledge, she has another brother as well."

"How strange!" Arya exclaimed, "A brother nearly the age of a father! Miss Rhaenys and Miss Targaryen surely seem like sisters in all but complexion." 

"Her mother is Dornish, but Miss Targaryen is of pure Valyrian decent."

"But they live with their great-uncle, do they not?"

"Aemon Targaryen? Was that his name?" Sansa tapped her nose thoughtfully, "I believe it is he who possesses Dragonstone. Margaery did seem hesitant to share more of her friend, but it certainly seems like a lonely existence to me. I do not seem to understand why Robb said that they were in an unfortunate position. Surely Miss Targaryen's brother would find a bride and inherit, leaving them in capable hands?" She shook her head, auburn hair still as impeccable despite the hour, "I do not understand."

"It is perhaps not our place too, either." Noted Miss Greyjoy, "But I think it unnecessary to pry." 

"Well, Ms Snow knows not either, and he seemed to be of equal mind when Robb spoke in such a manner. Unfortunate position! Look upon Dragonstone. That is certainly not an unfortunate position to be in." 

The estate was far out of their eye line as the carriage tumbled forth along the trail, but Arya Stark spared one last look behind her along the empty path where they had left Dragonstone and frowned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter essentially a praise on pets? Yes. Arya is a delightful character in this one. 
> 
> The hurricane knocked out my power for a few days, unfortunately, so this chapter is a bit short, more like Chapter 2 length. Apologies for that!


	5. Sociable Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is another ball to be held, and there Mr Snow once more feels put-out by his surroundings whilst the youth converse without the sociability of his own. Our characters exchange words for perhaps the first of many, perhaps the last of first times.

Though they had yet to exchange a single word toward one another, Daenerys Targaryen did not, for all her observant nature to see, realise that she had become of intrigue to Mr Stark's cousin. She had, only to the delight of her own social circles, known of Mr Stark's obvious kindness towards Miss Tyrell, and her niece's infatuation towards Mr Tyrell, both women of which were careful and shy towards the gentlemen of their affections. The intrigue, of course, was not one made of attraction. Rather, it was one of curiosity. 

Mr Snow, his cold demeanour and suspicious means, had indeed admitted to Miss Targaryen to be pretty, for any man with eyes would be able to see the striking features of her character, and he did believe the claims of her purple eyes from his younger cousin as well, though more so of a good word from a trusted figure than truth on the appearance of a stranger. He had admitted to his cousin as much, and for the rest of the week had ruminated towards the Targaryen Household. Robb had told him only briefly, with a saddened voice, that the family was of unfortunate standing, but had yet to divulge any further regarding what he meant precisely. Robb had spoken at length during his first call upon Dragonstone to Mr Targaryen, regarding what he did not know, but it appeared to give his cousin great sympathy towards the family. 

For his cautious musings, he felt that his cousin had too gentle and kind a heart, keeping the same reservations towards Miss Tyrell as well, silently keeping his opinion that perhaps she was too amiable to all, and therefore the infatuation of his cousin would need more time to develop on its own course. As fate would string its way, another ball was soon arranged and the Stark household invited, as were the many inhabitants of the nearby estate to convene in Storm's End in honour of the name-day celebrations of the recently-introduced Miss Baratheon. It was, to be expected, that the Targaryen women attend as well, as the estates were fairly close in terms of distance, and it seemed from his initial observations at the first ball hosted by Mr Mormont, that Miss Baratheon was a good friend of Miss Targaryen and her companion.

* * *

"There is a great deal many balls to be held in the South." Mr Snow commented the evening before their journey to Storm's End, another estate that seemed to meander along the side of the coast of the Narrow Sea. 

"There are surely more here than back home, to be sure," His cousin responded dryly as they inspected the fine coat of the riding horse in the stables, "But do not forget that we are also newcomers, and will be receiving invitations until the shine of our presence wears off." Robb motioned to the chest of the fine animal and turned to him. "Jon, does the pulse sound normal to you? I believe it is only slightly fast." 

Jon did as his cousin asked before straightening with a shake of his head. "Too fast. Do you not become tired of the many invitations? I have half a thought to only attend one or two of them much less one nearly every other week." 

"I have no qualms becoming well-acquainted with the neighbouring estates, Jon. And I am happy that there is a very good chance that Miss Tyrell and her brothers shall make an appearance and I take much joy in our conversations."

"That much is clear," Jon grumbled slightly, "Sansa seems to be one of the same."

"But not Arya, to be sure."

"No, not Arya." They chuckled together for a moment, recalling the complaints of the youngest Stark sister after their visits to Highgarden. She had admitted that Miss Tyrell was nice enough, and of excellent company, but perhaps too interested in topics such as painted tables and the pianoforte for her to be of much interest. She had then, in a flourish, presented them all with a freshly clipped rose that no doubt came from Highgarden. Had it been taken with or without the knowledge of the owners of the estate they did not know, and quite frankly the cousins were used enough to her behaviour that the question was never proposed. 

"What of Miss Targaryen, then? Perhaps at this ball, you may find yourself able to converse with her and ruin that opinion of yours once and for all." Robb asked him with a wink and a chuckle, in much of the standard way his nature had been since they were children.

"Miss Targaryen?" Jon did not like to think of Miss Targaryen very often and found it unfortunate to think of her when his mind wandered. It was equally unfortunate that his very first impression of the young lady in question was that she was very handsome. Nearly alarmingly so. He had, unfortunately; he truly never grasped words as well as his cousins; as it seemed, had stared for perhaps just a moment too long, caught off of his bearings at the sight of silver hair in the intricate braids that Sansa had frowned upon in their practicality. Purple eyes had not followed, but he did not have the fortune of being privy to a conversation as of late. He still, however, held his insurmountable opinion regarding her character to his mind despite without a direct conversation at all towards the young lady. 

* * *

Daenerys Targaryen, of course, remained unknown of such introspection that plagued Mr Snow, as well as the interest she had garnered. Her Valyrian features had made her the talk of society for quite some time, and the attentive stares of the town quickly grew to be a factor of life. Mr Snow, of course, was also unaware of the fact and had assumed to a mortifying degree that his initial surprise upon her first appearance that the rest of the guests had noticed his social stumble, which had prompted his degree of rationality now of an even cooler and more impassive exterior that only seemed to spurn the rest of society even more from his actions of the unsociable sort. However, he still wished to know more of Miss Targaryen and who he understood to be her niece and approached her conversation after the dancing in Storm's End had commenced. His rigid stature did not hide his attempt to do so, and he knew without a doubt that later in the evening, perhaps Mrs Baratheon or Mrs Lannister would approach him in question of it. They had a beautiful and eligible daughter, after all, and the shameful behaviours of mothers towards respectable gentlemen were beginning to make themselves apparent in this part of Westeros. 

Miss Targaryen, uninterrupted in her jovial mood for much of the evening at the ball, though Mr Baratheon of very unsociable sort and did not seem to hesitate to leer at the nearest young lady despite Mrs Baratheon's pinched frowns, remained near the edge of the dancing hall with her friends. Her family's strained and edging civil relations with the Baratheon and the elder generation of the Lannister family kept her wary whenever in their presence, though namely only with the eldest Mr Baratheon and Mrs Lannister rather than the younger of each house, both of whom seemed to get along quite well with company in comparison. With Miss Baratheon, she conversed very finely with, as friends did. Arianne had been accompanied to the celebration by her uncle, and Mr Martell seemed to be engaged in quite a conversation with the youngest Mr Lannister once more. Rhaenys had been sequestered off for dancing by Willas many moments pass and Margaery had once again quickly been swept away by Miss and Mr Stark for some equally engaging activity. Daenerys Targaryen had kept her wills during the interlude of the ball with the company of Arianne and Myrecella, the latter of whom was dressed for her name-day in a beautiful pink gown that brought out the youthful blush upon her cheeks with the new fashion of a sheer layer that fell over the skirts. It fit her remarkably well. 

The trio became curiously aware as Mr Snow approached, but continued on their own conversation as the gentleman made his way across the cheery room. 

"I could see him overhearing my conversation with Mr Lannister, not a particularly polite gesture and I wonder what he hoped to learn?" Miss Targaryen asked Arianne, who only appeared mildly amused by her question as her gaze slipped past her friend's furrowed brow to behind, where the man in question was still slowly but surely approaching them. 

"He is the only man who would give you an adequate answer to that, I am afraid."

"I would not dare to approach him under so little of circumstance, society has not yet degenerated to such a manner." Daenerys bit her lip fretfully as she sensed the approaching presence of the man in question. "Should he continue to do so for the rest of the evening I will have no choice but to inquire why he deems such actions necessary, but please Arianne, Myrecella, if you could you refrain from speaking oh his character further, I do not think I have the patience to examine his curious behaviour any longer."

"He _does_ seem to be rather cold, but I suppose too hasty a judgement for a man I have never met," Arianne said with a sip of her glass with one more curious glance across her shoulder. 

When Mr Snow finally approached, however, mouth still set in a grim line and seemingly in preference to remain as silent as he had been since the guests had arrived, Miss Martell defied her friend's wishes with a smile akin to the scheming that Margaery would often pull, and turned to address the gentleman after he had bowed and they had dropped into a brief but well-practised curtsey. They each noted to themselves that Mr Snow did not smile and only offered a quick nod for each of the young ladies rather than the standard exchange of words. 

"Mr Snow, how very fortunate to finally be introduced to you. Miss Targaryen has spoken very highly of your merit as a person of our society, and I have waited in much anticipation to see such a respectable sir such as you." 

There was a slight pause as Mr Snow's brow furrowed briefly before his reply came, the short time of which Daenerys Targaryen noted his rigid posture and darkened eyes that seemed critical and analysing as his gaze briefly met hers before returning to Miss Martell's.

"You as well, Miss Martell. Miss Targaryen speaks to highly of me, then."

"Did you not think that my teasing of Mr Baratheon for a celebration in Evenfall in due course was of excellent banter?" She said with a charming grin, for the Dornish had their own looser societal standards that often made Miss Arianne an independent and delightfully well-spoken mind.

"I lively conversation, to be sure." 

Mr Snow's responses were quite clipped and polite, and his eye did not depart from the speaker of conversation, and only when her friend sensed the muted horror and amusement that had befallen Miss Targaryen did the young woman changer the discussion. 

"Mr Snow, perhaps you would like to dance? I have not seen you with a partner for the entire evening and I must recommend my two dear friends here for their excellence in such a skill that I unfortunately lack." 

At the sudden suggestion, Mr Snow seemed to turn even more pale and more stiffened beneath the curious looks of the three women, and Daenerys felt as if he would stumble back at any moment. She had known him to rather dislike dancing, having overheard the conversation he had with Mr Stark, but to see it in such a degree was rather alarming. 

"Miss Arianne, that is completely unnecessary!" Huffed Myrecella, offering Mr Snow an apologetic smile, "I shall not force my guests to do any action they are not inclined towards, feel free to do as you please Mr Snow I shall not stop you."

This seemed to rectify the gentleman's mood, but he shook his head mildly. 

"Forgive me, but I have yet to be introduced to any of you ladies," Mr Snow paused sternly, "I am Mr Snow, the cousin of Mr Stark."

"So we have heard, Mr Snow. You seem to be of a much more reserved character if it is my place to say." 

"You are correct, Miss Baratheon."

"And what of your assumptions of us, sir? Surely you have already met Daenerys, she was the only one of our part at the ball hosted by Mr Mormont some time ago."

Daenerys had found herself silent for quite nearly the entire conversation and duration that Mr Snow had put himself into their circle, and had intended to remain content observing his figure and what she could of his character when quite suddenly she found herself the topic of their discussion. Their eyes met and Mr Snow spoke.

"I had seen Miss Daenerys at the ball but we have not yet conversed."

The utter fool of a man! To say such with the harsh words he had deemed her with made Daenerys quite affronted and surprised, but the polite smile painted upon her lips did not waver as she nodded. 

"Indeed, Mr Snow, but I must confess that I did not think you wished to rectify the relationship until now." His eyes were grey, she realised and reminded her much of what she had imagined the North to be in its austere and strong roots. He did not seem to regard her with any more interest but kept his line of sight directed solely towards her in a very peculiar fashion.

"What a strong look you have, sir!" Myrecella sensed the discomfort of her friend under his scrutiny and directed his attentions away as promptly as she could.

"Not as strong a look as a man in love, I will admit," recalled Arianne, "But sir perhaps you mock us too readily."

"Come, let us no longer be the focus of his attentions and the teasings no longer, Myrecella. Dany, how quaint do you think it that we have situated ourselves next to this beautiful harp that is of excellent condition?"

"Arianne-" The former attempted to protest, but Miss Martell pursed her lips in the very same manner her aunt often did, and with a teasing look motioned for her friend to approach the instrument. Myrecella could not help but laugh, while Mr Snow began to look increasingly uncomfortable, and upon the realisation that his presence was no longer alluded to and someone quite forgotten by the three young ladies, linger only away from their jesting and conversation, close enough for him to be able to hear the notes should Miss Targaryen choose to follow her the direction of her friend but distant enough that no current guests would assume his association with the three. Upon his personal realisations and his own musings towards Miss Targaryen, a single look from her had nearly rendered him speechless, and this he mused alone as the women continued on without interruption. They called her _Dany._

* * *

"Such a friend you call yourself," exclaimed Miss Targaryen, much more for the benefit of her friends than the quickly dissipating presence that Mr Snow had left behind, whose words had still left an impression of curiosity and hut that did not manage to trump her happy mood. Despite her lack of training in the more sociable musical arts such as pianoforte or singing, a trait of which Rhaenys had been much more inclined towards despite Viserys and his attempted encouragements towards the matter, the harp was perhaps the natural talent that Daenerys excelled towards, much to the delight of her family except for her brother. Those who had known Rhaegar had often commented on her skill as well, for it was the teachings of her eldest brother from childhood that nursed such an interest. 

"I am simply offering my praise to your skills, Dany. Play something for us!" Arianne led her friend towards the delicate harp, and Myrecella quickly followed.

"Yes, Daenerys it would be of great happiness to me if you do so, Myrecella took her gloved hand and led her towards the instrument confidently, "For it _is_ my name day and I think I shall make this my request of you."

"Now that is just crass!' Huffed Daenerys, though her mocking frown was quickly overtaken by a brilliant smile and a tinkering laugh that without the attention of her friends, caught many the eye and ears of the gentlemen nearby, and Mr Snow as well from where he stood. Miss Targaryen shook her head before taking a seat upon the stool.

"But if you insist, Myrecella, I can do nothing but follow." 

It was indeed an unnatural talent and affinity Miss Targaryen seemed to possess for the harp, and as she slipped her gloves off and gifted them to Arianne, the first chord of notes that rang out effectively caught the attention of the men and women gathered in the hall, and her performance of a traditional song was indeed very pleasing to the ear, and Mr Snow soon found himself drawn back towards Miss Targaryen, as did much of the guests, to listen silently to the melodic tune that Miss Targaryen put forth. It sounded quite haunting and arresting, and by the time she had finished much of the room had paused in its breath. 

"She was Rhaegar's own pupil, it is no wonder she plays so well" Mr Snow heard his surroundings whisper to one another, "Pianoforte is not her place but my the harp! It must be some sort of magic."

"Truly can her skills be no less of such stature?"

"She is no doubt wishing to catch the eye of some fine gentleman."

"It must mean that Viserys Targaryen is not here to stop his sister from such an action."

Clapping ensued, as did much encouragement and praise that quickly returned to the lively air as Myrecella herself took the seat upon the pianoforte adjacent to the harp and struck up a lively tune that a few pairs began dancing to on one side of the room. Miss Targaryen was soon swept away by her friends and family off the stool disappeared into the crowds before Mr Snow could speak. 

He spent the rest of the evening silent and engrossed in his own musings along the side of the large windows, and so much unregarding of the world around him that he had not realised that the eldest Mr Tyrell, Garland, had stood alongside him. It appeared that he had returned early with the first wave of the garrison, and still favoured his leg as he rested against the wall. 

"Such a lively crowd that resides in the south, Mr Snow. There is much dancing in music that points to a fine gathering."

"Yes." Jon replied automatically until the young man cast him a curious gaze before he went to elaborate, "Dancing and music occur in any society no matter how much it has fallen."

Jon Snow did not speak false, for even in the outskirts of the North that ran along with his property, the various groups that lived in the far countryside, there was dancing to be held around high fires in the cold winter. 

At that comment, Mr Tyrell quirked his lips into a small smile. "I see your friends perform exceptionally. Your cousin has enchanted my sister entirely." The two men paused to see that upon the dance floor that indeed, Miss Tyrell was the partner of Mr Stark once more as Miss Baratheon continued to play.

"I do not dare to suggest that you are less adept in skill than your cousin, Mr Snow," Garland added after a beat of silence.

"You did see me dance at Mormont Hall, sir."

"Yes, I did. With Miss Stark."

"Yes." 

The silence then became quite awkward as both men stood straight and surveyed the merry hall, and Mr Snow nearly moved to excuse himself to join those of a more familiar sort when Miss Targaryen appeared his sights for the second time that evening. Garland, by his side, reacted first as she strode towards them. 

"Dany, why ever not are you dancing? Surely my inability to be your partner has not spurned all the gentlemen here?" Garland nodded to Jon, "Here is a fine gentleman who would no doubt accompany you should you wish in my stead, perhaps."

"Margaery has made you too much into a romantic, sir," The young lady teased and stopped with a shake of her head. "I did not come here to beg for a dance partner, I am afraid. Nor do I have the intention of doing so." She had yet to meet his eyes once more. 

"Well, I do not think that is up to the likes of me, Miss Daenerys. I do not know of any gentleman who would be unwilling when such a radiant partner presents themselves as you do." 

It seemed that Miss Targaryen's hair had loosened only slightly since they had last conversed, and it instead took on a more natural look. Jon ground his teeth and valiantly attempted to do just that as Garland had suggested. 

"May I have the pleasure of the next dance, Miss Daenerys?" He asked, but it seemed that Miss Targaryen was resolute, determination flashing in her eyes as she gave a clipped no thank you and turned to give a pointed look to Mr Tyrell. It was clear that they knew one another quite well. The look even appeared to mollify Garland as well. 

"Another denying of the public towards your wonderful skill in dancing then, Dany. It seems like Mr Snow dislikes happiness in general, no offence to you kind sir, but surely half an hour of obligation would be enough for both of you."

"Mr Snow is nothing if not polite." Came her tart reply with a smile, seemingly amusing herself with a jest only she knew.

"And so he is." Garland agreed, and with a curt nod to him, offered a hand to Miss Targaryen. "Shall we join your aunt and my brother, then? I do not know if we shall be joined my Margaery for quite some time."

With a brief, lingering look and a curtsey from Miss Targaryen, the pair left, and the rejection did not sting any more than a comment upon the weather as Jon Snow retreated back into his silence to mull over the intricacy of the friendships the youth seemed to have in the South. It was in such a manner that Miss Stark had found him.

"I think I know you well enough to know what you think of," she said.

"You give yourself too much credit, for I do not know what I brood of half the time either."

"You think of the utter rowdiness of such southern society, then. You do not enjoy this very much and would much prefer to be in the North rather than in the company of such. And I am inclined to agree with you. I adore the South, but unfortunately, it seems that the people here are little more than greedy savages. Have you heard their conversation?"

"No, that was not what I was thinking of," Jon rushed to stop his cousin from speaking more, "I was thinking quite pleasantly in truth."

"What was it then?"

"I was thinking of the pleasure that comes with a pair of fine eyes."

Sansa turned at once to give him quite an earnest gaze, and bid him to tell her who it was that had inspired such a revelation in him. Jon told her earnestly without much thought.

"Daenerys Targaryen."

"Miss Targaryen!" Sansa seemed intensely surprised at his response, "Have you ever spoken to her at all? I seemed to be under the impression that you found her to be vain and conceited!" She seemed to laugh as she continued, and Jon stared at his cousin, unblinking as she did so.

"Should I give you a congratulations on your future wedding, then? When am I to wish for your eternal happiness as I do already?"

"The minds of women move too soon, Sansa," He grumbled, "Interest does not mean admiration, admiration does not mean love, and love rarely means matrimony."

"A lady's rapid imagination is not to be blamed sir, but at any rate." She nodded to her brother Mr Stark, "I believe you shall have a fine brother-in-law from what Robb has spoken of. Mr Targaryen appears to be neurotic if not just as unsociable as you."

"Aye."

She continued to speak to him of how her evening had gone, the utter delight of Margaery and the many compliments others had made towards her lightness of foot or towards her pleasing figure, and Jon listened to his cousin with indifference as he slipped back into his own mind, and all the while remaining attentive enough that Miss Stark was assured that all was perfectly fine as the hours passed by. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much more convoluted can this plot and the characters become is up to no one but me. They said the title of the work! And a few more embellishing of my own in here; Daenerys plays the harp now and I guess Viserys is going to have a reputation before he appears.


	6. Arrivals of a Familiar Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Targaryen has touched upon the shores of Dragonstone, as have the insight towards the household circumstances.

The estate of Dragonstone currently owned by the elderly figure of Aemon Targaryen, had been reduced to a still rather rich sum but perhaps no longer enough for what the House of Targaryen had once been, of two-thousand stags annually, certainly, a well-to-do amount had it been entailed to a family of immediate relations. But, as the whisper of the elder generation of townsfolk often mulled over, the dreadful incidents and scandals that had taken place regarding the primary residence of the late Targaryens had left the matter of inheritance quite complicated and troublesome. The details were not made public, for the family had always been rather isolated in society, but there was enough general acknowledgement for the animosity harbouring among a few key members of Southern Society that the North did not care to grasp for understanding. 

The House of Targaryen had once been a rich and grand lineage of proud Valyrian blood, even more reclusive than they were deemed now, of which little history was known to outsiders, with an inheritance of nearly ten-thousand stags accumulated from the two estates of Summerhall and Dragonstone. The late Aerys Targaryen had seen to a continuous and proud house, though it was well-rumoured of his ill-temper and harsh attitude that was not simply reserved for his family. There was, only a very few of the generations two above the youth, who faintly recalled the notion of bloodied hands and bruised arms, but their memory did not serve them well enough for such a thought to be expressed. But Mr Targaryen had a son. His marriage had been long, for he had wed his sister as was custom of the Valryian tradition in Westeros with permission granted aeons ago by the Crown and Church themselves, and Rhaegar showed much to favour the kind and intelligent nature of his mother. Their residence lay in the seat of Summerhall, and Dragonstone utilised much by the young and shrewd Aerys Targaryen, for business in Essos made for much easier conduct when there was access to such ships and the Narrow Sea. Rhaegar Targaryen, one skilled in the harp and lyre in such a manner as to be the desired husband of nearly all young ladies in his time, was a promising and indeed desired heir of the two large estates, and indeed had been kind to all to earn him such a desired position. But as with many marriages of the era, it was so forth arranged rather fortuitously by Mr Targaryen that he wed the beautiful and equally kind Elia Martell from a family of high standing in the region of Dorne some ways away, and their union was of much secret discussion for nearly three years before being officially announced to the public. In the brief freedom that Rhaegar felt fleeting within the gap of discussion, it was said that he travelled instead, venturing the far North at times to observe the cold scenery, to Dorne for a better acquaintance of his future wife's family and customs, and to Essos for the continuation of the contacts and ties that House Targaryen had always set to maintain for business and profit. From what Daenerys could recall, it was even hinted at rather nastily by her father that Mr Lannister had tried to enforce a marriage of Rhaegar to his only daughter, but her father had spurned him rather cruelly when the idea was voiced, resulting in the lingering rift between the current Mrs Baratheon and her father with the remaining members of the Targaryen lineage when Rhaegar had been married to Elia. Though now, she supposed, it was fortunate that she had not married into the family considering the tragedy that had occurred afterwards. 

Daenerys Targaryen did not know very much of her eldest brother's earlier travels before he married, but from what she had been told by Mr Barristan and their aunt and uncle, as well as many others that had known him well, that he was perhaps one of most just and honourable souls of their generation who did not take to renting out lavish homes for residence for short periods of time, preferring for modest housing in inns and such, even playing the harp for coins and paying his way through honest means instead. Mr Barristan had even noted with mirth once that he had given all his earnings to a local orphanage and had then paid for housing and board on his own. There had been, once, numerous trinkets and figurines taken from his travels that lingered in Summerhall for his children and siblings when they visited, for his father did not allow such _common_ items to be placed in the so-called royal halls of Dragonstone. From what Daenerys and Rhaenys could recall of their past home and residence, there had been a beautiful set of hand-blown blue winter roses in the parlour, famed silk of the Dornish hanging near the windows, and various other indications of a well-travelled, fine young man Rhaegar was destined to be. There had even been a common tale that her brother had told when he was alive, fondly with daughter and sister seated on his legs, of a winter storm so large that the Kingsroad had been blocked for nearly three months, and had prevented his travel out of the North where he was forced to contend for the greater period of half a year. Viserys had never liked the talk of stories.

When Daenerys Targaryen was six years old, Summerhall had burned to the ground. The nearest town had spied the flames in the pitched night from leagues away, but the fire brigade had arrived to a blaze so fiery and massive that there was little they could do but frantically call for any survivors they thought to be of residence there at the time. The smoke and the scent of burned society had lingered in the air long afterwards for many moons. 

No member of the household dwelled very much on the circumstances of the fire nor the immediate aftermath, but it had a dealt a deadly but lingering blow upon their livelihood, and contributed quite much to their current circumstances. 

Occasionally, when it was late in the night and without a candle to light her way, Daenerys would often think back to her childhood. There was a flurry of memory, of the stern glares of her father and the once-foolish mind of her brother that had matured now to something of calculated anger. She had never the chance to learn of her mother, for it was during her birth at Dragonstone had she succumbed to the Gods. Daenerys knew that her father, and by consequence her youngest brother, had placed the blame upon her shoulders, to which the rest of her family never did. Her father had never truly recovered from the death of his wife and sister, apparently. She also remembered quite distinctly the beautiful summer gardens upon the estate of Summerhall, often running along the paths with Rhaenys with the sun in full shine and the cool waters of the lake a pleasant distraction when needed. Dragonstone, upon the same era, had been a terrible distinction from the warmth that Rhaegar and Elia had crafted for their residence.

When the winds turned east and the clouds rolled darkly over the structures, it often came with it the tendency of reflection. Today was such a scenario. Margaery had fallen rather ill from a poorly-prepared dish at some sort of local gathering, and Garland and Willas had been called back to the garrison to prepare for the official marches back into town. This fact had come to the great excitement of Missandei, who had expressed herself as thus while Dragonstone prepared for the arrival of the last, and youngest, the surviving son of the late Aerys Targaryen. 

* * *

"Grey has written to me." she had said that morning as the three young women made their seating across one of the drawing rooms, Rhaenys situated in front of a partially-finished painted table and Missandei situated with a neat number of ribbon strands upon the chaise in an effort to create new braiding patterns. Daenerys had taken to her favourite window-seat and was content to gaze out the windows to the cliffs overlooking the Narrow Sea. Had she better skill, she would paint the beautiful grey clouds and the foaming water. She turned to meet the gaze of her friend. 

"As he often has, what news does he bring?"

"The regiments and the garrisons are set to arrive in the next week," she responded with a smile, "He has officially received a medal of honour for his exemplary combat."

Rhaenys set her paintbrush down and gave her a soft smile. "That is delightful, Missy, that comes with a tidy sum as well if I am to be sure."

Daenerys was quick to reassure her, "Uncle Aemon would give permission of marriage no matter, Missandei, but we shall all be very upset if you are to move away forever." 

"I do not think I would move so far away if I could, I've grown to love the sight of the sea too much to stray far."

"The issue would be Viserys," Rhaenys sighed and rubbed her temples, "I fear the weather seems to darken each time he is set to return. I fear I am not in the mood for balls and parties any longer. I do not understand your caring of him, Dany even if he is your brother."

"I do not think it is just Dragonstone that darkens, Nessie," Daenerys chuckled, "With Rose sick and her brothers gone Highgarden seems to be the same. And Viserys is kind when he is." 

"The calamities are not just here, I believe Joffrey Baratheon has suffered a broken leg from being thrown from a horse as well." 

Sad news indeed, but it was delivered in the part of a jest, and all three ladies grinned. 

"Hm, well that would not count so as a tragedy, would it?"

The three women muffled their giggles, and the dreary mood outdoors was considerably lightened. 

"But he is to arrive soon, I hope he has faired well." Rhaenys looked to her aunt sympathetically, but Daenerys simply returned to her peering outwards of the window. 

"Perhaps in a better mood than with he left," she sniffed, "The business in Essos had seemed to wane a little and had let him ponder for much before he left I fear."

"Perhaps once the weather clears we shall be able to spend some time in town with him to lift his mood if necessary, then," Missandei spoke of course to the town nearby, of which they had not been down to personally in quite a bit of time from personal duties. Occasionally, Uncle Aemon would feel enough strength to journey there as well with his nieces, but those scenarios were few and far between as the years continued to pass. She often journeyed there for the most frequent news regarding the regiment, for they had dear friends who served as well as the very specific Captain that Daenerys had befriended in Essos so many years ago and had fought tooth and nail for Rhaegar to allow them home. She had always been counted as one of a strong-willed personality, perhaps the sheer will that had bled from mother to daughter, but bring them to Westeros she did indeed, both becoming her dear friends for a very long time as a result. 

* * *

The estate of Dragonstone was only, as Miss Targaryen had told the youngest Miss Stark when they had first called upon their household, was the very distance of only perhaps half a league away from the nearest town, and made for a very pleasant walk that Daenerys and Rhaenys oft made during the week when the weather was kind, of which lately it had not been. It was there that the Martells had a lovely resident townhome that Arianne frequently resided in, as she was quite old enough to do so and her aunt and uncle valued independence as a virtue quite largely above all else, next to wit and brevity, of course. Occasionally, her aunt and uncle would join her there as well, and so from the three there often came the news that took time to reach the smaller villages of large estates, so the journey to town was made ever too often for news more so than purchase. But, of course, seeing the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen's brother, such plans were briefly put to a pause. It was certainly the type of lull that came around often when Viserys was due. 

Precisely four days later, Rhaenys and Daenerys found themselves standing very stilted and quiet with reluctance as the sound of a carriage came from some ways away upon the winding path of Dragonstone, three large beasts sitting patiently on their haunches at their mistress's side and Uncle Aemon resting in his study, no doubt being updated regarding the whereabouts of his nephew by Missandei who stood near one of the windows to observe. Another dark and gloomy day for the weather, one that did not seem to be eager to lift, whose storms had also caused frequent tides and waves that had delayed Viserys and his journey for two weeks before today. Daenerys scratched the head of Rhaegal absentmindedly as the sound steadily grew louder, of trotting horses and rolling carriage wheels. It did bring some sort of anxiety upon their hearts along with some sense of relief that he had made it home finally, safe in health. 

He did not care much for her dogs either, only tolerating the most one of his own namesakes, and so Drogon and Rhaegal stood behind her while Viserion lay in front, all three uncharacteristically quiet as well awaiting another member of the household. A dull affair it was. 

Viserys had disembarked from the ship in one of the nearby towns closer to the sea than Dragonstone, the port that was still regarded as belonging to the residents of the family and therefore of closer proximity for travel rather than those arriving from the Kingsroad. A letter had been sent presently alerting his arrival, and they had finished their tea before gathering outside as they did. Finally, the carriage came into sight from the winding path. 

It was still a grand carriage, for they were not lacking particularly in wealth than it was in for an heir and a definitive future, and the numerous trunks piled upon it did no shake as it lurched to a stop in front of the residence, though the sight of them did make Daenerys grimace. He had an allowance, as did them all, but the things that Viserys spent on were less than what she would suspect. Still, there was relief upon her features as the only man in Westeros with silver hair stepped down from the steps eagerly. Her brother was home. 

"Sister!" 

The young Mr Targaryen opened his arms and approached her first, smile upon his features and pale lilac eyes meeting hers, the violet that apparently came very close to that of her mother. His embrace was cold, for the winds had done their duty upon the travel here, but Daenerys met her brother's enthusiasm with her own as she stepped towards him, though much more muted. 

"Viserys, I am glad you have made it home. We have missed you." She gestured to the carriage, whose horses were being led away to the stables, "Have you faired well?" 

"Yes, of course, I am here am I not?" He pushed her question away and turned to Rhaenys with a stiff bow and a slight frown of confusion. "Rhaenys, you seem to be getting more sun, you are less pale than when I left."

"Ah, well Viserys I have been to the Highgarden estate often, and there is fewer clouds present there." Rhaenys smiled, and Viserys' mouth set into a brief frown before returning to his slightly-bored expression as he turned back to his sister.

"Ah, yes that Willas boy. He is fine, I suppose. The Tyrell family is of a good match. Ah, your beasts." Viserion had taken to trotting up and nudging his nose at his rings upon his hands, and the young man shrunk back in distaste. "You need to stop feeding them, they are no dragons."

"I do not control their diet, Viserys, if they hunger than they very well are capable of taking to the hunting grounds." Daenerys pet Viserion soothingly before affectionately nudging him away. His namesake did not appear to be amused.

"Come, Daenerys, show me to Uncle Aemon. I have much to discuss. There is news that I must share with you, I can hardly believe the luck of the gods." He gestured to the trunks being unloaded with an uncharacteristic smile, "Rhaenys, I come bearing gifts for us all, I shall be back in just a moment. Allow me to spend some time with my dear sister."

"Perhaps I may help you get your things to your chambers-" Daenerys began, but her brother silenced her with a sharp smile and moved to take her hand. 

"Nonsense, dear sister. Come, Uncle Aemon now. You can join Rhaenys once you take me there."

They began walking promptly up towards the doors of the estate, the dogs staying behind with Rhaenys as she began instructing the trunks to be moved where. Daenerys went along with her brother. 

"Will you not speak me of the news you share, then?" She asked as they passed through the foreboding arches carved into the statues of dragons peering down at them, "I would love to know of your business as part of the family."

Viserys scoffed at the idea nearly immediately, and Daenerys tuned away her brother's comments of a proper young woman's place without her head being filled with petty talk of men's matters. He had always been reluctant to include her in the true affairs of things, but he was often unknown to the notion that she had been very keen on understanding herself, seeing as she was often the one to read business affairs to their great uncle due to his blindness when Viserys had called on Missandei or Mr Barristan to do so instead, his complaints being of no use for such trivial matters. Viserys did not seem to know that she had the general knowledge and often dismissed hers, as he did now. In the steps upwards, a countless number from the side of the estate in which Viserys had arrived, there was the opportunity for Daenerys to take in the changes of her brother. 

There was, as was standard of Valyrian features, a strong jaw that was frequently clenched when she or Rhaenys, or perhaps Uncle Aemon now, spoke of something he did not agree with. His brow was furrowed often, though it was not now as Viserys launched into an excited recounting of some ridiculous story of a man in Essos who had not recognised his rights, and his hair was still customarily hanging down to his shoulders. It was of a golden colour, while hers shifted silver early on as Rhaegar's had. It was braided in a simple crown behind his head, and he seemed to have kept in an excellent fashion from his travels. Viserys was taller than she, but just as slender in build. He had been rather ill for much of his childhood before Daenerys had been born, and the fire had never done well for either of their health. It was from appearances that he was at ease, a certain relief painted upon his features that mixed with pride at being on Dragonstone once more. His grip at the crook of her arm, however, tightened as they entered the open doors into the estate. Viserys used a gloved hand to brush against the delicate lacing of her dress's neckline. He paused just beneath the yawning and cavernous great hall, where the blades of Valyrian steel were mounted on the walls near the portraits of their ancestors. 

"This dress was from two years ago, why is it still in your wardrobe?"

"Well, it is pretty and the fabric is still finely woven." Daenerys looked down at the light green dress with its puffed silk sleeves. It was rather plain, to admit, without much embellishment or detail, but the singular fabric always seemed to shimmer and move fluidly like water whenever it caught the light. The buttons were in the back rather the front, indicating the slightly more outdated fashion, but Daenerys had always felt more lukewarm to pretty things than one her age. Margaery had used to say the dress made it so that it was as if she was a water spirit, and Daenerys had kept it in her possession since. Viserys though did not seem to like it.

"It is too standard," He snapped before dragging her into step again up one corridor to Uncle Aemon's Study, "But no matter, I have brought new dresses from Essos for you to wear. They are better than this and will be sure to catch the eye of more men." He said so impatiently, the pin that held his cloak in place glinting as it caught on a torch, the dragon head clasp one that she only wore when travelling, more out of memory for her mother than for pride of their House. It seemed that nearly everything she loved was once her mother's, a fact that did not seem to bring Viserys much joy. The servants they met along the way managed quick bows as they passed, the polished boots of her brother hitting loudly upon the marble flooring as they made their way through. Viserys at that moment seemed the same as he had always been, clothes impeccable but slightly wind-swept, his eyes roaming the walls of Dragonstone briefly as he passed the portraits of their late ancestors, the polished silver candle-holders and distinct that cast their shadows far behind them. His cheekbones were more pronounced, and Daenerys cocked her head curiously. He nearly looked sicker in this light.

"Have you met of the Stark and Greyjoy's that have come down South?" Viserys continued to ask, "I have heard that both households have eligible gentleman, though I do not want you to associate with the latter, they are much less powerful and rich in comparison."

"Yes, we have been to at least two balls with them in attendance. Mr Stark is interested in Miss Tyrell though and has paid little attention to the rest. Both of are an excellent company. We have had the Stark sisters over for tea once and they have promised to return the visit in the near future."

He seemed to not find either fact surprising, as Mrs Tyrell had been very vocal in her opinions of her grandchildren since they were old enough to frequent Highgarden. There was much lamentation towards moving Margaery from her previous station in the North to return and live with her grandmother. 

"Yes, I know of Ms Tyrell already." Viserys paused and regarded her suspiciously, piercing eyes scrutinising her before he spoke, "Is there no one else in the Stark household of your age? I had thought I heard of three gentlemen in total."

Daenerys blinked. "No. There is only one Mr Stark."

"Hm, well that is to be assumed then." He straightened his cloak and let go of her arm roughly, motioning her away. "Run along now, sweet sister. I have business to discuss with Uncle Aemon and will present your gifts to you afterwards. Good news, to be sure."

She did as he ordered, and left him alone in the large hallway to find Rhaenys, slightly off-put by her sudden dismissal. He had never stopped speaking to her as if she was only a child of eight, no matter that it was nearly an entire decade ago and she had long lost the childish naivety. Daenerys rounded the corner swiftly and heard the knocking of her brother followed by the feeble voice of Uncle Aemon grant him entry.

* * *

Viserys did not appear until dinnertime once a fine preparation of ingredients had been presented, and the members of Dragonstone had gathered themselves around the table. Uncle Aemon looked visibly cross and Viserys equally so. Whatever had been discussed, the nature of which no-one seemed to know, seemed to weigh on both members of the household. They ate their dinner much in silence, with the occasional comment on the darkened weather and Viserys on his off-handed explanation on his business in Essos. It appeared that the relations that had been built by Rhaegar long ago were still strong and present, with many a gentleman questioning him on the whereabouts of his sister. Viserys had apparently told them all that she was soon to be spoken for and was in good health. He expressed mild distaste well at the news of the regiment's arrival. 

It was quite late in the evening, and the foul weather had wearied all their spirits regardless of travel, and so Viserys had deemed it too late for gift presentations and announced it to be for tomorrow. He appeared to have taken generous liberations with his wine glass as well, and by the end of the evening his lilac eyes had turned glassy, and the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed more prominent. He left the table abruptly as they were beginning to retire with a kiss on his sister's head and a one on his niece's cheek before he left the hall, bidding a good-night to their Uncle and already muttering to himself the itching of his cravat collar. 

It was not a surprise, though, for Daenerys to awake in some odd hour in the early morning to find her brother tugging her awake. The moon shone in barely from the windows, the clouds were still present, but Viserys had a candle with him that he sent upon the table. She stifled a yawn as she rubbed her bleary eyes. Her night-cap had fallen off sometime in the night, now laying innocently upon her pillow and not around her hair. Missandei would not be fond of that come morning. 

"Viserys? What is it?"

"Hush, sweet sister." His own hair was unbound, and had prevented her from sitting up fully when he leaned in. 

"You know of our circumstances, you know of Mr Baratheon, do you not?" Viserys spoke in barely above a whisper, as if he was divulging some secret that he could not hesitate to share. He looked half-mad in the flickering candlelight. 

She nodded warily, the conversation without a definitive end in sight that made her ponder the situation as rationally as she could in her sleep-addled state. Her brother seemed satisfied enough with her answer.

"Very good. I have received news from my own sources that he has become a widower." 

This made her sit up abruptly, coming face-to-face with her kin as her eyes widened in surprise. "How did this news come to you? None of the Mr Baratheons have been in communication with their brother since the estate had been decided, I thought?"

"Yes, well, that is true." Viserys still waved her words away, and then he rose up, "Keep your voice down, sweet sister."

"How long ago did his wife-"

"Two months past. He had been a recluse since, his patronage has many estates that he has lived in but I have been told that he has been in mourning since."

He looked to her expectantly, but Daenerys did not understand the excitement of her brother. Mr Baratheon, unfortunate as it was, would be the one to inherit Dragonstone once Uncle Aemon passed, but they had never seen the man, for they had been in Essos when Rhaegar had passed, and even since then it had been common knowledge that the Baratheon men did not get along fairly well. The eldest drank and gambled, the youngest was deemed too lax, and the middle the reclusive and serious man of religion that did not concern himself with much of society. To hear news from Dragonstone's next destined owner was a surprise regardless of what they had heard. 

Viserys finally rolled his eyes. "Must you be so stupid? He is a widow, Dany, which means that he will be in want of a wife."

Daenerys could feel the cold realisation dawn upon her conscience, but she did not show it except for a sliver of recognition in her eyes. So that was the excited news that her brother had been wishing to share in private. It was very strong information indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there was a way to throw pure exposition at the readers I would do that. I should note that none of this is beta-d so errors in continuity or words are all the fault of mine and what Grammarly does not catch. Hope this hints at a few more details of the future! There is a structure to this, fret not.
> 
> If you've any questions I go through the comments best I can so I would love to answer them


	7. An Unexpected Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys receives a letter of invitation from her neighbours, but the journey does not serve its purpose in its entirety.

It seemed that as sour a taste the news of Mr Baratheon left in the youngest Targaryen's mouth, it left an even more bitter sense in the rest of the inhabitants of Dragonstone. Viserys had proudly announced the news at breakfast the next morning, to which each member of the household reacted accordingly.

"What does such news mean for us, Viserys? Surely it only means that we will not be likely to see the next mistress of the household. A pity to him as well, perhaps we ought to send our condolences?"

Rhaenys, ever the placatory, said this as she reached for a buttered roll upon the table, the crisp morning air forcing each of the ladies into warmer robes over their dressing gowns. At least the storms had decided to abate for the time being, leaving for a rather pleasant grey sky that blanketed the estate.

"Of course we shouldn't, you stupid girl."

Two members of the table winced. The third sharpened his gaze. 

"Viserys," The admonishing tone of their great-uncle swept across the dishes, and though his pale eyes remained unfocused, the distaste of his words were clear. Mr Targaryen bit back a small scowl but did as he was told as he addressed his niece once more.

"No, Rhaenys, we should not. The death of his wife is not public matter or knowledge, and to send him condolences of a subject we have no regards knowing would be foolish."

"And why would the information be of use to us?" Rhaenys asked again.

"He should be in want of a companion for life, should he not?" Viserys smirked towards the to younger ladies, "If he is a manner of an intelligent being then he should understand perfectly well, as do I, that it is in the best interests of either of our households to offer a hand in marriage."

There was a look of reluctance shared among the two women, one that neither of the Mr Targaryens noticed, one for his blindness and disinterest in such matters of marriage, for the charges of Dragonstone were free to do as the pleased, and one for the lack of interest in the opinions of his sister and niece. The elder Mr Targaryen had, in partial effectiveness of their current status of lineage, married for love, a fine and stout love that held the very philosophy he carried to his charges, for he had no children of his own to pass his experience upon. His nephew, however, lacked the forgiving nature that his sister and niece had received, and followed much in the character of their late father instead, a factor that nearly all contacting parties of the last Targaryens seemed to understand. It was a great misfortune, then, that dappled his future. 

"That seems to be a rather presumptuous notion, whom do you expect your sister to wed, Viserys?" Mr Targaryen spoke again, and his eldest charge scowled much more. It appeared that the jovial mood Viserys had arrived in yesterday had all but dissipated. He, of course, would never speak such disrespectful plans to his great-uncle, but the implications were clear.

"Whom she wills it to be." Was his curt response. Miss Targaryen did not take a liking to the inconsideration. Like her niece, marriage was quite an abstract idea of a future, much less like how Margaery held those values close to her heart. But, as Rhaenys was quick to remind her uncle, through her blushing explanation of the nature of her feelings towards the young man, Mr Tyrell was certainly a more promising outcome and though it pained her to give voice to her inner feelings of kindness towards the younger brother, it was enough for Viserys to begrudgingly understand. It did not, however, alleviate the scheming of his eye to turn towards his dear sister, and Daenerys became the outlet to which her brother considered their situation. 

Miss Targaryen was in the thoughts of perhaps venturing into town that day, for her dress trimmings were in the requirement to be mended, and the fresh air was bound to do their fair complexions some more blush, and the weather had unexpectedly cleared overnight in a brilliant fashion, but her comments faded away when Missandei had entered the dining room and slipped the younger a letter addressed to her person. 

"A letter?" Rhaenys leaned closer to her aunt curiously, the fine paper in her hands of unknown handwriting. Viserys seemed to note instead the wax seal bearing the stubborn head of a snarling wolf, and his eyes narrowed towards the paper as Daenerys read the contents. 

"It's from the Starks. What do they want with you?"

"The Starks have come calling?" Mr Targaryen murmured, "Just a month past they had called upon us once, I wonder if it is one of the ladies of the house this time."

"It is from Miss Stark," Daenerys replied, "She has invited me to dine with her. Listen."

" _Daenerys, friend,_

_I do believe Sansa wishes to drive me away with her madness, and as she is to invite Miss Tyrell for tea and dining to-day, it was upon my insistence that you should be invited as well. Please do come as soon as this is received, for I fear that I am mere moments away from riding to you instead to escape more talks of fine dress silks and painted tables. My brother is away on a visit with the officers so you shall not need to contend with him._

_Arya Stark_ **_"_ **

"Well, she does not seem to enjoy the company of her sisters a great deal," Rhaenys giggled, "Dany you must rescue her at once."

"Her brother is away, for the time being, at least you will not need to contend with the Usurper's dogs." Viserys did not appear to be of much interest in the matters and continued with his breakfast. 

"Shall I take the carriage, then?" Daenerys handed the letter back to Missandei and looked to her great-uncle for an answer, but the elder man only frowned. 

"Unfortunately, my dear, the horses are to be engaged by the blacksmith for new shoes."

"Perhaps horseback, then?" Daenerys offered, "Silver would enjoy the time spent outdoors and I fear that I have neglected her for far too long."

"Horseback? Dany surely that is not a good idea." Rhaenys looked out of the windows fearfully at what no doubt amounted to still a fine layer of mud rather than compact dirt that lined the paths, "I fear it the journey too muddy for a horse from the rain, and surely you know of the South's tendency to shine one moment and rain the next?"

"Let her go, Rhaenys." Viserys waved her comments away, "Better she stay at the Stark household for the evening should it rain for better want of connections. If Mr Stark is to return than perhaps you can entertain him as well."

"Entertain she shall not!" Cried Rhaenys, "For if she is to fall from her horse or be caught in the rain I would not know what to do!"

Daenerys was quick to reassure her niece that a little rain could hardly cause disaster and that she was a fine horsewoman in her own right and would therefore be perfectly fine to journey the five miles distance from Dragonstone to Hightower without the immediate fear of being thrown from her horse. And so, it was decided that Silver would serve as her transportation, with Rhaenys persuaded by Uncle Aemon that it was not so much a terrible decision seeing as the Starks would no doubt keep her health fair should something ever befall her person. 

* * *

And so, Daenerys was sent off clad in a riding cloak and in a purple dress that Viserys had presented to her shortly from Essos. Drogon had once again been reluctant to part from her and kept up with Silver's trotting for much of the first half-mile before Daenerys had admonished the dog enough to return home. Thankfully, the areas and the villagers had all become used to seeing any of the large beasts in the area alone and without an owner. Occasionally, Drogon would even be fed enough by the passer-by taking pity on the familiar beast that he would refuse his meals. But Drogon had been petulant enough to demand a scratch behind the ears before letting Silver trot out of sight, and Silver had been unperturbed in the presence of her dogs, and only shook her white head once before setting along at a faster pace. The steed had been a kind gift from her late brother a number of years ago and had been a beloved animal for her since. But true to the word of Rhaenys that very morning, there was indeed a great deal of mud and river water flowing through the area of lower elevation, perhaps due to the recent rain that had happened overnight.

No sooner had Daenerys departed from Dragonstone did she encounter the usual path from the estate still flooded from the river nearby, forcing her to choose the more mountainous path through the woods for the higher road. A much less travelled than the main path, and no doubt she was set to encounter not a single soul in the forest but the occasional farmhand. Thankfully her cloak prevented the overhanging branches and lower brambles from catching the delicate cloth of her dress, and Silver's familiar gait set her forward. However, it was rather unfortunate that the rain from the evening had knocked over many a tree, which required more wariness navigating the footpath and steering in a way that required minimal vigour and exercise. It was even more unfortunate, then, when a young sapling had taken the liberty of collapsing right in front just as they were passing by perhaps the fourth-mile marker and had startled Silver with a fright enough to buck her off her saddle completely, her legs unprepared for the sudden motion and mind distracted that the fall had set her hard onto her right ankle before she had managed to gather herself off the ground and with a great deal of coaxing, calmed her horse down enough not to cause further fright. Silver was well-trained enough to never run from her mistress, but still, the wariness of their surroundings took many a moment to still. Daenerys had only attempted to mount her horse once more when upon the realisation that her leg had a frightful pain bearing upon it.

With dread, she found that she was unable to put any sort of weight upon it for a prolonged period of time, and though Silver was well-behaved enough to stay still with patience for her rider, the task was impossible to bring herself upon the horse's back. So difficult that Daenerys could only hold steadily upon the reigns as she tried to keep herself upright, gently leading Silver to a nearby tree so that she could ease her pain momentarily on the side of the path. The forest was a quiet place, and Daenerys let out a small huff of resignation when she realised that it would be some time before someone would come looking for her. Rhaenys, in her worry, had been correct after all. 

Daenerys had to suppose that it was nothing short of a blessing, then, that the air was still crisp and clear so that there was much more a numbness of her ankle than the pain on it, which Daenerys could feel increase ever so slightly with each movement she attempted to make. But with her destination much closer than her departed estate, she had no choice but to keep Silver by her side to prevent her from running off elsewhere instead of towards Dragonstone. Her dress, a beautiful and delicate thing that Viserys had presented to her that very morning with excitement and preening, had muddied at the hem from her fall, but that was to less consequence than her leg at the very moment. The fabric was a pretty shade of light purple that Rhaenys had said brought out the shade of her eyes. But now, alas, the hem of the garment was stiffened by the drying mud that would most likely extend to her white stockings as well. But her shoes would be in manageable condition, at the least. Daenerys liked to think of herself as pragmatic enough for rational thought and realised herself to be less concerned with the state of her clothes than the state of her body. Yes, the cold had numbed the initial shock and her still-beating heart had its course in easing pain, but the dull ache was beginning to make itself very evident. Alas, as with many things in her life, there was no better option but to grit her teeth and stop the shaking of her hands on the reins until someone could help her. She had not experienced a fractured or broken bone in her life, but it appeared to be a very likely outcome for her. 

_This is quite an unfortunate turn of events_ , Miss Targaryen thought to herself with a bitter smile, _I wonder if I shall faint._

With a bitter wince, Daenerys leaned against the sturdy trees, one hand clinging to Silver's reins tightly and the other keeping her weight off the right ankle. Now, the only left to do was wait. 

* * *

Mr Snow did not find himself to be in a particularly jovial mood. He had accompanied his cousins out that morning quite early to converse with the first arrivement of the garrison, and though Robb had initially prepared him for an entire day of socialisation, it was to the great relief that he was soon called back to Hightower due to the interception of some troubling news regarding his estate in the North, and had to, with unmeasured glee, excuse himself from the company of soldiers and begin his trek back to a familiar environment. He was a soldier once, of good merit, and to see men in uniform with the same steely look he had been gifted far too young, did some good to him. He spoke with those who looked rigid, to those who looked lost, and those who held themselves like he. But, thankfully he had been pulled away soon afterwards before some of the cheekier men and high ranking commanders began suggesting the introduction of their sisters or daughters to him, which had quickly declined his rather begrudging mood in the first place, and upon the appearance of the letter, he excused himself promptly.

His sense of direction was keen, and he could easily make his way back to Hightower without assistance, feeling rather free to push his horse to a great pace and watching the lands rush past him. He had taken the liberty of traversing the smaller woodland paths to avoid more conversation, a choice that was much more to his benefit than to that of time. It was finally not as hot as the air had been, and the drop in temperatures added to his contentment as he raced along the roads. He missed the north, preferred the harshness, and did not think the South was suited to his tastes. But no matter, he had not come to the North to find a wife, as Robb has thinly veiled to be following the passing of his father and whilst assets were still being transferred and settled, and so the bride gap of freedom could be taken advantage of. There was no secret preserved that his aunt wished for himself to wed her daughter, but Jon had no interest in Sansa, only one of begrudging tolerance. Arya had always been his favourite cousin, anyway, of much wilder spirit. 

He was too preoccupied with his thoughts for the majority of this ride back and had only slowed his steed down to avoid a fallen sapling that a strange burst of colour came into his view, and he blinked in surprise at what he saw. Right upon the side of the road, a pace or so away from the muddied path, was a pale white mare, a sight he was unused to so much that he slowed the trot of his horse as he approached the animal. The animal with the pristine white coat appeared to be quite content to simply stand in the front, though even more troubling of a horse without its rider and saddle empty was the small figure that was partially hidden by the mare. Only upon closer inspection did he realise that a pair of gloved hands were clinging to the reins, limply, and without movement. Now properly concerned for the stranger's wellbeing, Jon looked closer, and to avoid them from being spooked, dismounted quietly and tied the reins to the nearest tree to investigate. As he stepped forward cautiously, he began to realise that the person had noticed his presence and had suddenly jerked up to full height and turned towards him from their hidden spot against the trees, obviously startled. 

Jon felt his heart drop into his stomach when he was regarded with a pair of luminous, violet eyes. He stopped in his tracks immediately. 

They stood like that for a moment, his resigned figure still in mid-step standing stiffly and the silver-haired young woman cautiously looking from over her animal's saddle with a spark of defiance in her gaze, gazing up at him with a look of wariness. Jon cleared his throat awkwardly, but did as the circumstances called for. 

"Miss Targaryen," He greeted, "Good day to you."

"As to you, Mr Snow." Miss Targaryen paused with a wince as her mount shook its head, and it was then that Jon realised that her gloved hands were clasping the reins too tensely for comfort and that her pale complexion seemed to steep towards pallor instead of a healthy sheen. Her eyes did not seem as sharp as he had always noticed hers to be. When her horse trotted forward ever so slightly to reveal her mistress, Jon also saw that the edges of her cloak stained with what looked to be mud. In short, Miss Targaryen did not seem entirely like the delicate and haughty young woman he had thought her to be despite their brief conversations in the past. It seemed to be with much difficulty that she continued to address him, for there was no smile upon her features.

"I had begun to fear that no-one would be traversing the forest path today, much less of a gentleman."

Jon barely registered what she said, and instead took to focusing on the strange way in which Miss Targaryen held herself, as if the tree was her only hope of standing upright. There was something oddly familiar about the look upon her face. His eyes narrowed.

"Miss Targaryen, are you ill?" 

Jon did not find himself caring much for formalities, and did not hear whatever she said next, striding down the slight incline off the path with a sense of purpose until he stopped directly in front of the horse, to which it seemed unaffected. Miss Targaryen seemed to pull back ever so slightly. 

"You do not look well, why are you here in the woods alone?" He rounded the front of the animal to inspect her more closely, taking in the slightly askew bonnet that hid her silver hair and mud-caked skirts that now decorated her person. 

Miss Targaryen, though uncomfortable with his closeness, cleared her throat softly. 

"It is my right ankle that is the cause of my distress." She answered. 

Jon narrowed his eyes at once to the hem of her dress. He pointed to her right leg. "May I?"

With a hesitant nod, Miss Targaryen allowed him to kneel before her, gingerly raising the hem of her skirts just to where her ankle was. Her shoes were set at a rather odd angle, and at once the problem became apparent. Jon had seen this before. He had been a commander, after all. He knew the look of the wounded. 

"Your ankle is fractured." Jon said duly, "You've fallen off your horse then." Then, without meaning to say aloud, "Of course you have."

Miss Targaryen drew back even more, and this time as he met her gaze she seemed nearly willed for what would be no doubt a stinging remark, but the fire in her eyes slowly seeped away and she let out a weary sigh. Perhaps Jon ought to have felt some pride in having rendered a lesser into the state of a lack of words, but instead, he felt a sort of remorse. He had already heard of her quick wit from his cousins, but it appeared that Miss Targaryen was in no sort of state to counter. He dropped the soft fabric of her dress from his hands and stood up.

"I have been calling for any assistance for the past ten minutes or so, but there has been no movement at all save for the nature of these woods." Her small frame was showing signed of the barest shiver, and her nose seemed to be a bit red from the winds. Jon's brow furrowed at once. 

"Can you mount your horse?"

"Not without assistance, I am afraid." 

She shifted on her feet with some difficulty, "Mr Snow, may I trouble you to return to Hightower and request for some help? I am afraid that I have begun to develop a fever in this weather." 

Jon suppressed a grimace at the thought of highborn women being so delicate. A southern wife for Robb certainly wouldn't do, they would simply freeze into ice up in the North. 

"Very well then." 

Jon let out a huff of reluctance and began to shed himself of his outer coat. Miss Targaryen appeared alarmed. 

"Mr Snow, what on earth are you doing?"

"Wear this." He told her impatiently, "And let go of the reins."

"What is the meaning of this?" 

"Stop and listen," He told her before she could ask again, "I am afraid there is a much better solution than leaving you alone once more where you could succumb to gods know what. Who allowed you here, surely these areas of land are not safe for a young woman to traverse alone?" 

Begrudgingly and appeared slightly admonished, Miss Targaryen reached for his coat and wrapped it around herself. She let Silver go from her grasp as well. Jon quickly led the mare over to where his steed had been tied and made quick work to string the two horses together. Once assured that they would stay put, he hurried back over to where Miss Targaryen now stood in his coat. She was rather dwarfed by the large material, but at least she was no longer shivering. Her eyes looked sharper now, and she seemed to have gained some of her spirits once more. That was a good sign. 

"Can you walk?" He asked her.

Miss Targaryen grit her teeth. "No, Mr Snow, I am afraid I cannot." 

"Fine then, this is what I shall do. Your position is a familiar one." Jon proceeded to outline his plan for her, that he would carry her to his horse and set her atop of it, that he would ride with her to Hightower seeing as she was obviously unable to ride on a horse alone, and he would have someone fetch the physician at once so that the fractured ankle could be amended before having the news of her injury sent to Dragonstone. It was, after all, a simple course of action that had occurred many times in the North with the sudden bouts of snowfall and such. He had to seek Arya out in this way more than once when she would leave the estate without notifying any persons, though she would always end up with a cold. With a tired look at her surroundings, Miss Targaryen agreed that it would be the best course of action.

* * *

Soon, with a well-practised motion, Daenerys found herself quite literally swept off her feet by a gentleman and carried carefully up the incline to the main path to where their horses were waiting, Mr Snow's coat lined cleverly with fur no longer made her hands feel numb. She could only briefly wonder what Rhaenys or Margaery would say had they seen her at this moment, perhaps fawning over such a gentleman, but now she could only feel her begrudging respect towards Mr Snow, though not nearly enough to counter the rude comments he had made of her person without a single conversation. 

With his arms around her waist, she was assisted onto Mr Snow's horse without additional jostling of her ankle, which was still in a heady pain that nearly brought tears to her eyes, slightly angry at herself for allowing her to be put in such a position and upset at the state of her clothes, as well as the proudness of accepting help from a man she did not know quite well enough. But she was warm now, and as Mr Snow untied his horse and mounted the saddle behind her, she was warmer still. Following his instructions of taking the reins with his hands covering her gloved ones, they set off at a slow but steady pace, the exhaustion of holding herself upright for so long in the cold mud finally seeping into her bones. It was the steady trotting of Silver from behind them and the solid mass to rest her weight upon that lulled Daenerys into an uneasy sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back from the holidays, 2021 better be the year I get my act together. More Jonerys interactions here, at least! Also the first major major plot diversion from Austen's book, but I am sure she would understand. From this point out we're going to be in unfamiliar territory.

**Author's Note:**

> First work, be nice!
> 
> Still working out the plot but I don't put enough effort into things I should so here are the basics:  
> It will follow for the most part structure and style of Jane Austen's lovely work, some liberties to flesh the characters out a bit more, et Cetera. 
> 
> Happy Ending for everyone involved, minus the rude people.


End file.
